A Life in a Pocket

On a late Sunday morning, Susan Freeman, and her fifteen-year-old daughter, Maya, began to open their newly-bought Christmas decorations and turn their quiet home into a winter wonderland. Susan placed reindeer antlers on her daughter’s head, which matched her sienna-brown hair. “Honey, will you please head up to the attic and start passing me the boxes of old decorations that we don’t need anymore, so we can get rid of them?”. Maya smiled and ran over to the pull-down attic door and ladder. She climbed up the rustic ladder step by step, then reached for the metal light string hanging in the middle of the dark. Once the lightbulb shined, she could see boxes and small shadows behind them. In the far corner of the room, a few worn-out, cardboard boxes marked “X-MAS” were stacked together. Maya walked over to them, listening to the floor of the attic creak with every step of her boots against the wood. She picked up the first box and walked back to the opening in the attic that she first entered. “The first one is the old Christmas lights. It’s too bad that this stuff stops working after a few years”, she said to her mother, as she leaned down to pass her the box. 

A few minutes passed, with her handing down box after box until she reached the last little box, one that had been hidden under a cobalt-colored raincoat. Before picking up the box, she grabbed the raincoat. It was so shiny, with big yellow buttons down the front. Maya had never seen this raincoat before, but assumed it must have been her mother’s. “Maya, is the last box too heavy? I can come up there and get it”, Susan said loudly, so that Maya could hear her, deep in the attic. “No Mom, I’ll bring it down in a second. I just want to look around a bit, to make sure it’s the last one”, Maya answered. There were a few small beeping sounds heard in the background, which came from the oven. “Okay, honey, I’m going to go take the cookies out of the oven, so they can cool before we decorate them”, Susan replied. 

Once completely alone in the cob-web-filled attic, Maya stared down at the raincoat. She carefully slid her hand down the left pocket, finding nothing but emptiness inside. Then, she reached into the right pocket, feeling something soft, yet paper-like against her skin. Maya was cautious when taking the item out of the pocket. She did not want to tear it with her long, emerald-painted fingernails. It was an old postcard, with small spots of water damage and slightly torn corners. She held it up to the lightbulb to see what was written on it. On the front side was a picture of a Blue-Jay, perched on a branch of a pine tree. On the back, it was addressed to Susan Freeman, from Jay Katana. It was dated, October, 17^th1993. Maya read the faded, cursive writing. 

Suzy,

I climbed one of the largest mountains in Ireland yesterday. The view at the top was breathtaking, but nothing compares to you and your mother’s natural beauty. I miss you, my sunshine.

Love, Jay Katana

Maya blinked multiple times, in an attempt to understand what she just read. Her head ran through so many questions. Who is Jay Katana? How did he know her Mom? Why is it from twenty-six years ago? Were there any other postcards, or is this the only one?She grabbed the last small box of Christmas decorations and raced down the ladder. She set down the box and postcard just long enough to close the attic door. Then, she scooped them up and ran into the kitchen. Maya set down the last Christmas box on the floor, next to the garbage can, with the other boxes of decorations that were old, broken, or just no longer needed. Next, she grabbed her mother’s red sweater by the sleeve, asking, “Mom, what is this?”.

Susan turned around to find an old postcard at her eye-level. She took it and asked her daughter, “Where did you find this?”. Maya replied, “It was in the pocket of the blue raincoat in the attic. Who is Jay Katana? Why did he send you this twenty-six years ago?”. Susan looked down at her daughter’s bright green eyes and smiled. “Well, I guess you’re old enough to learn the truth about your family”. Maya raised her eyebrows, with a puzzled look on her face. She had no idea what secret she had stumbled upon, the secret that this postcard has held for years. Susan had Maya sit down at the dining room table as she went into her bedroom to get something. She opened her closet doors, reached up to the top shelf and grabbed an ornate, wooden box. She carried the box to the dining room table and sat next to Maya. “In this box, is a stack of postcards. They are all addressed to me, from Jay Katana. He sent me a new postcard every year. Each one has a Blue-Jay on one side.” Maya hesitated before opening the box, “Who is Jay Katana, and how does he know you and Grandma?”. Susan smiled to herself. A few tears welled up in her eyes. “Jay Katana is my Dad, and your Grandpa”. Maya didn’t understand. She looked at the tiny tears that lightly fell down her mother’s cheeks. “That doesn’t make sense. You said Grandpa’s name was Benjamin Freeman. Why would you and Grandma lie about his name?”, Maya pressed. Susan lips pursed. “Maya, I didn’t lie. That is your Grandpa’s name. But, Grandpa has a unique life. One that Grandma never told me about. One that I had to figure out about on my own. I don’t think Grandma knows how much I have figured out over the years.” 

After a few moments in silence, Maya asked the one question that burned in her mind the most. “You said he ‘has a unique life’. You told me Grandpa died when you were a kid. Is he alive?”, she stuttered. Susan’s tears started to grow larger. “I’m not sure”, she muttered. “When I was ten years old, some men from the government showed up on our porch and told my mom that he died. It was the worst day of our lives. But, there was never a body. It was an empty casket buried in the ground. Mom said that his body was burned in an accident at his job, but never told me the details”, she exclaimed. Susan swallowed before telling her daughter the most difficult secret that she has ever kept. “A year later, I got the mail from the mailbox and found a postcard addressed to me. It was from Jay Katana. I knew in that moment that Daddy wasn’t dead. In the postcard, he said that his adventures were only meant for me to hear. Daddy wrote that he could not talk to Mommy anymore to keep her safe, that it was my job to keep the postcards hidden”. Maya looked down into her lap. “So, you never told Grandma?”, she asked cautiously. “No. I never told her. I planned to tell her when Dad said it was safe... In one of the postcards he told me that he would let me know when it was safe. He said that if I told her, the postcards would stop coming”. Maya let out a soft breath, asking more questions, “Why does it say Jay Katana? How did you know it was from Grandpa?”.

There was a crack of thunder outside. The room had gotten chilly as the temperature dropped outside. Susan glanced at her daughter’s confused expression and let out a tiny chuckle. “Well, when I was really little, your Grandpa used to tell me bedtime stories. In the stories, there was a brave knight, named Jay Katana. He had a huge sword and a beautiful white horse. On his armor, was the seal of his family, a blue bird with wings outstretched. Jay Katana was a warrior. He saved everyone he could. Some nights, it was a princess. Other nights, it was an injured stranger. He was a hero in his land and a legend in others. But, every night, he was always the center of every story. What I didn’t know, was that he was a fairytale version of your Grandpa. After the first postcard arrived, I saw the name Jay Katana, and knew it was Dad. He didn’t die in an accident. He was alive, but could not tell anyone. It wasn’t until I got older, when I learned more about the FBI, CIA, NSA and other special agencies. I’m not sure which one Daddy was a part of, if any of them. I do know that he must have been undercover, which is why he couldn’t reach out to us, as himself. Something was wrong, but there was nothing I could do, but follow his instructions. I never could write back, especially since each postcard is seemingly from different countries. It has been the worst secret to keep, but I’m just thankful to know that he didn’t die when I was a kid, that he was still out there, thinking of me. The only thing I can hope for, is that he found some way to contact Mom, without her telling me about it, but I never got the opportunity to talk to her about it, before the dementia set in. She will never truly know what I know”. 

In disbelief, Maya demanded more answers. “How many postcards are there? Is it safe yet to talk about him? Or is this a secret I need to keep? Will I ever meet him?”. Susan opened the antique box full of postcards. “There has been one postcard every year, from when I was eleven years old, to three years ago. The postcards stopped coming then. I don’t know if he is alive, or dead. I can’t ask my Mom, because she can’t even remember who I am, on her best days. I keep hoping that I’ll get another one in the mail one day. But, like I said, it’s been three years since the last one. I have to assume that he either can’t reach out to me from where he is, or he’s gone”. Susan broke down crying, placing her head in her hands. “I didn’t want to tell you, because there isn’t anything to tell. There’s only the stories of a fairytale character, with no concrete proof of how to get my Dad back”.

After an hour of nothing but the sound of her mother’s tears, Maya had to take action. She spent the last hour holding her mother in a tight embrace. She did not know what she could possibly say to her, to take away her pain. Her mother was taunted for years with the smallest sentiment of her father. There is no proof that he is alive now. That was not good enough for Maya, though. Now, she needed to be the brave hero for her mother. Maya pulled her mother’s hands away from her face, looked her straight in the eyes and said, “The secret’s out. This may be difficult, but we’re going to do it. It’s time we find Grandpa”.