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A rainy day. The sultriness of the bus. It’ll be a while before my bus stop. I watch the depressing streets with gray houses passing outside the window.
After a long working day in the office my mood isn’t even at zero. It has descended into negative territory. The weather is disappointing too. Cold and wet. An announcement in a monotone voice. The next stop is mine. I’m disconnecting from reality again. Time seems to slip away.
When I get off the bus, I automatically go home. For the last four years, my whole life has been on autopilot, home – work, work – home. I don’t want anything, I’m too tired. Something has to change, but I’m too lazy. Right now, I’m fine with this stillness. No one cares about you, tells you what to do, controls you and antagonises you. And to be honest, I just can’t get over a past relationship. Six years of happiness, but then… completely out of the blue.
Well, this is my entrance. As I walked to the elevator, I noticed there was something in the mailbox. How very odd. It’s too early for the invoices. Did they send spam or food-order flyers again? When I opened the mailbox, I took out a white envelope. Everything became even odder. A letter with no return address. This is the first time I’ve ever gotten something like this. All right. I’ll look at it when I get home. I waited for the elevator. Why is it moving so slow all the time? Finally!
After I opened the door, I threw my backpack on to the ottoman near the door. Now I’m facing a dilemma: open the letter straight away or take a shower first and put the kettle on. Well, I did get soaked and cold while walking home. I guess the second choice it is. Right now, the hot and powerful force of the shower spray is exactly what I need. Oh, yes!!! Superheated water, here I come!
Once I got warmed up, I got out of the shower and, while drying my hair with a towel, went to the kitchen, where I put the kettle on. After picking up the letter, which was put on the table, I climbed on to the coach with my feet. Having torn the side strip, I got the paper out. I hope this isn’t another spam letter from some place. Although, in the age of telephones and the Internet, who would write a regular letter? I don’t think places like that still exist. And I have no one to write to. So, what is it?
After opening the paper and reading the first phrase, my heart leapt into my throat. I threw the letter aside and jumped to my feet. I can’t and I don’t want to! Not again! Never again. Four years to forget! Four years to start properly breathing again, not cry every night and stop acting like a zombie.
And this… this greeting, this handwriting, memorised to the very last curl and twist. What is it this time? I don’t even want to know! Back then he disappeared without a word, and now: “Howdy, I thought of you?”
Upon hearing the whistle, I put the paper on the coffee table and went into the kitchen to turn off the kettle. Instead of the desired coffee, I got some chamomile. Cognac would be nice right now, but I have to be back at work tomorrow. After taking the tea with me, I went to the balcony, got a pack of cigarettes and lit one. My hand shakes like I’ve been drinking for days. When I opened the window, I took a deep breath. Fresh air is also good for clearing your brain and calming down. After finishing, I took the cup, having finished the whole thing in a couple of sips. So what do I do next? I don’t want to know anything about him. But curiosity is worse than a rabid squirrel. I looked at the letter. Fine. The man wrote. It’s not like reading it will change anything. I’ll have a quick look. After climbing on to the coach with my feet, again, I took the letter and opened it. So, what did he write?
“Hello, Sunshine!
I’m sorry I disappeared so suddenly without saying anything or explaining anything. I know you’re mad at me, maybe you hate me. So I’m not writing the return address, hoping that you won’t rip the letter right away and at least read it. I can’t ask for more than that.
Then, I had to do what I did. Trust me, I didn’t mean to hurt you. But that was the case. Sorry, I might ramble a lot, repeat myself. This letter isn’t easy for me to write either.
Now I don’t even know where to start. How to explain the whole situation. But I want you to know that everything that happened between us wasn’t just a game and a fling. You are the best thing in my life. Even if you’re not close, even if you’re not with me. At least I know for a fact that my little man, my sunshine, lives somewhere. Kind, warm and so affectionate. But most importantly – breathing.
You see, I had no choice. You know my father, and you know what he can do. About a year before I left, my father gave me a «difficult» choice: either I marry the one he chose for me, or he disinherits me. You know, I was never interested in money, and I had a bad relationship with him since I was a kid. So I told him to go screw himself with a light heart. So I forgot, let it go and stopped thinking about it. Except he didn’t.
This «wonderful» man decided that I owe him something in life. Maybe you even remember this. I was at home, freaking out. You quietly listened to me, and then you calmed me down with only a hug and told me everything was gonna be okay. And I believed that everything was going to work out that way. That your words are the truth of last resort. Sorry for that. I’m sorry I didn’t do anything. Back then, I should have grabbed you and ran to the ends of the Earth. Although even that might not have saved us. But it happened the way it happened. Eternal ‘ifs’... History, unfortunately, doesn’t like subjunctives. But even after all this time, I don’t know what the right thing to do is or if I’m making it worse. But still, off-topic.
Remember how you nearly got hit by a car? How you were pushed from the stairs onto the underground tracks? And how you got stuck in an elevator for eight hours? With your claustrophobia! Sorry! It’s all his doing. His warnings to me. From «threats» of disinheriting me, he moved on to more lucrative and efficient methods. I couldn’t put you in danger.
Except it was too late. I’m sorry for that. As much as I’d like it to, it didn’t work any other way. The choice was not happy/unhappy, but alive/dead. I chose your life. And don’t regret it! I know you’re hurt, you hate me, you don’t want to know me, and you want to dismember me after what I did. But you’re alive and that’s what matters the most to me.
Now, finally, something has changed. I won’t tell you what exactly right now. I want to talk to you face-to-face. I want to meet up with you. Of course if you agree and also want to. I understand that maybe it’s too late. I understand that maybe you already have someone else. All I’m asking for is one meeting. Even if it only lasts five minutes and you’ll be beating me up the whole time. It’ll be the least I deserve.
In the envelope, I put a sticker with a phone number on it. If you decide not to call, I’ll understand. But I’ll wait for your call my whole life. I understand if not today, maybe even not in a week – eternity. I don’t want to push, and I know you need time, too. I’m sorry, remember that for you I will always be free. And I don’t need anyone else. I only love you, Shawn. Loved, love and will love.
I eagerly wait for your answer… If that’s what you want.
Yours faithfully, Rick.”
After I finished, I put the papers aside. Tears fell down my cheeks, and inside my heart was swearing in such a way, that longshoremen lined up with notebooks to transcribe every word. What’s he counting on? Does he think that, after writing some touchy-feely stuff, I’ll instantly forgive him? Run after him like some lost puppy and believe everything he says? To him, the father is who’s responsible? There was no other choice? How about telling me everything right away? We were together! It was up to both of us! Fuck!
After I got up, I hectically paced the room while gripping my head. What should I do next? What should I do? What should I choose? Should I call or not? My head was spinning and my legs carried me to the table and my arms reached for the envelope by themselves. After briefly inspecting it, the sticker with the number was in my hand.
I don’t know how everything is going to work out, but my fingers are already entering the number into the phone book on their own.