When I was a boy I loved getting letters. Postcards, magazines, you name it. It made me feel important, like the world was talking to me. That is important to a boy, all to important. But when you grow up, the mail becomes a hassle. It is bills, notices, junk mail, invitations to places you don’t want to go and reminders of people you don’t want to see. Most of it goes to the trash. But sometimes you get that one letter, the kind of letter that fills you with dread. Whatever lies within tends to be the last thing you ever want to see. It may be the thickness of the envelope or the postmark, but whatever it is, you don’t want it, yet you know that you have to open it. Maybe it is your acceptance/rejection letter from college, or a letter from your ex, or in my case, anything with the words Royal Mail on it.
Dad….
This particular envelope had a strange postmark that I did not recognize. The thing pulsed in my hands as I fumbled with the keys to my apartment. I just wanted to get inside and read it, get over with. Maybe he was coming to visit, hadn’t seen the old man in what, two maybe three years. New Years I think.
I dropped the groceries on the counter, grabbed the remote and switched the TV on; drug related murders, two traffic accidents and another government scandal. Paradise, ya gotta love it! I ripped the envelope open and….
McMillan & Co.
Solicitors
Oxfordshire, UK
To Mr. Mendoza
We regret to inform you of your fathers passing….
What the fuck!
