The Mystery Letter

The Mystery Letter

Well, let’s see what is in the mailbox today. Letter number one, asking for money and giving me a bookmark with a picture of a wolf on it to make me feel guilty if I choose not to donate. Letter number two, thanking me for being a supporter of their cause when I haven’t given them anything, and I have never heard of them before. Letter number three a bank statement telling me that my investment money has earned me $65 over the last six months. I can blow all that money on a dinner out at Kentucky Fried Chicken. Now look at this. All I have to do is phone this guy, and I can get a free house evaluation. I’m pretty sure the value would be an overestimated one encouraging me to sell when I don’t want to, even if the number is realistic.

What’s this? I can’t believe it. It is an actual letter, not selling anything. Wait, this is strange. The address is right, but the occupant is wrong. The letter was intended for Ben, the guy who lived in this house until about a year ago. I don’t know what to do with this letter. What do I do?

Should I just chuck it out? But maybe it of importance to him. I do know where he lives now, in the old lighthouse in the harbour where he works, but I can’t just write ‘the old lighthouse’ on the envelope and mail it.

I should find out whether the content is important or not. I can steam the envelope to undo the glue so that I can see the contents of the letter without making it look like I ripped or cut my lay into it. If the message is important, I can glue the the envelope back to privacy, take it over to the lighthouse and give it to him. He probably won’t suspect a thing.

Steaming the Envelope Open and Finding a Surprise

           I can’t believe this! It is a love letter! It even included a picture of her with a big smile on her face that showed love. From what she wrote I can see that they had a very close relationship.  What separated them was that she had needed to spend months in another town to take intensive care (she is a nurse) of her very sick sister, who has now recovered. They lost “meaningful contact” to use her words. The phone calls became fewer and fewer. However, she is coming back to town and wants to “reunite with him”, to use her very words, now that she has returned. I guess I will have to glue the envelope and take it to him, pretending that I have no idea of the message it contains. I will tell him that by the looks of it, the sender isn’t asking for money, and ask him whether he recognizes the handwriting on the envelope. It is quite distinctive.

I Deliver the Letter

After my day’s work teaching psychology at the college, late in the afternoon, I drove over to Ben’s lighthouse home. I hoped he would be there, as I didn’t want to put the letter through the old mailslot, because then I would not have a chance to see the look on his face when he reads the letter.

           He was, of course, surprised to see me, and had an expression on his face that seemed to signify that he thought that I was going to make some kind of late complaint about the house that he sold me. The look quickly changed when I handed him the envelope. He stared at the handwriting on it. He knew who had written it, I could tell. He tore the envelope open, not caring that I was standing right in front of him. Then he read it over very carefully.

           His face changed its expression from mere curiosity to extreme happiness. But then, strangely, his face almost literally fell. I engaged in research on facial expressions when I was earning my three degrees in psychology, so I can read faces like they are maps.

           “I can’t do it. When she left me to take care of her sister, our relationship crashed [a predictable word for a person living in a lighthouse to use] That is one reason why I had to sell the house. There were too many memories there that I could not escape.”

           One recent memory that he did not want to escape was the letter. He put it very, very carefully into his pocket, patting his pocket once it was safely inside.

Then he said, “Thanks anyway man. I appreciate what you did. I just can’t face the disappointment again.” With those words, he turned, and closed the door.

           I felt that my work was not finished. I had seen the look on his face. Knowing that his ex-girlfriend Cheryl Jones was a nurse, I reckoned that she could very well be working at the local hospital. I was right. I was told that she was working at the Intensive Care Unit, I headed straight for it without explaining why I did so.

           When I saw her there, I gave her my standard ICU joke. I walked right up to her and said, “Excuse me, are you Miss Peek-A-Boo, at ICU. She laughed, and then I told her the story of what had happened to her letter, and Ben’s responses, one of love, one of pain and fear. I suggested to her that she should go see him at the the lighthouse. She said to me that she did not have a car, but that she would call a taxi. I replied by telling her that I would drive her there. I wanted to see their reunion, and the dialogue of facial expressions that would follow.

           I waited until her shift was over, having to endure the food in the hospital cafeteria – wondering as usual whether they intended to recruit patients by what they were feeding people there. Cheryl rushed into the cafeteria, a look of excitement on her face, that covered it like the horrible dark-brown gravy did my French fries, only in better taste.

           We drove to the harbour, with few words spoken. When we arrived at the lighthouse, I told her that I would go out of sight, which I did by hiding behind a very big rock, from which I could peek at their reunion. She knocked on the door, and he answered. The look on his face was just like that of his initial impression when he first read the letter. They hugged each other intensely, before they even spoke. I didn’t need to hear his words to know that he invited her inside. Before they went through the doorway, she waved me away, and shut the door. Now on to KFC.

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