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It was the third month of the year, two months after disaster struck Karma’s life for what he prayed was the last time. Karma wasn’t a religious man but ever since that day he found himself muttering praying in a religion that wasn’t his own, not in theory. He was desperate. So desperate for comfort that he almost invited the delivery man in. Until he saw the name on the letter. After signing a document or two he shut the door in a hurry.
“To: Karma. I thought I’d bother you again.” It read. It was very Gakushuu. Even in death he chose to be a snarky little problem. Karma left the letter on his coffee table and stared at it. He couldn’t open it, not yet. How could he? It was the last piece of a puzzle he hoped to keep unfinished. Something like a clue to the case of his life.
He left the house that night, with nothing but his wallet and the clothes already on his back. It was 11PM when he decided that the rain wasn’t enough to drown out his thoughts, he needed something stronger. He stumbled into a bar and took a seat by the bartender.
“Back again?” The man behind the counter asked, wiping a glass. “The usual?”
“Something stronger please.”
“Rough day?” He nodded.
“You could say that.” He tapped his fingers on the counter.
“Anything you need to talk about?” He poured whiskey into a cup.
“Someone I loved wrote me a letter,” he explained. The bartender nodded.
“Loved? Sounds bittersweet.”
“He died so.” He took the whiskey and smiled a bit, “I’m just emotional.”
“Understandable. Anything that you say in here stays here, remember.”
“You’re being really nice, I’m not in the right position to give a huge tip you know.”
“I’m just nosy. Promise. So what was in the letter?”
“I’m not sure, I left it unopened.” He downed the glass. “Wow, you do not disappoint.”
“Well this is my favourite gig. Scared to open it?”
“Yeah actually. Can I have another one?”
“Of course.”
“It’s just that it’s the last thing I have of him and I want to save it for later.”
“How much later?” He asked, handing him another glass.
“Well it’s just when you know somebody who’s, you know, alive. There’s always something to look forward to because there’s always something new.”
“That’s,” he paused, “a beautiful way to put it.”
“Thanks.” He drank half of the new glass. It was weaker. He was thankful. “How’s your situation?”
“Well there’s this guy. I don’t want to sound sensitive though.” He smiled sadly.
“Go ahead, I need joy.”
“Well I’ve been with him for years now and he has this habit of getting in his head. I want to let him know that it’ll be alright,” he explained.
“He has a great person looking after him. What do you mean by get into his head?”
“Well he likes to make things up and dwell on them you know?”
“Sounds rough. I hope it gets better.” He stirred the ice in his glass with a straw. “Maybe it’ll get better with the weather.”
“Yeah, I hope so. So what was your guy like?”
“He hated alcohol,” he deadpanned then took a sip. “He called me sacrilegious. He had these dimples when he smiled but he rarely ever did. His hair was orange and he insisted he never dyed it but I found a box of bleach under his sink. God he was so annoying.” The bartender smiled.
“He sounds complex.”
“The best people are.” He looked at the bartender who looked away.
“Hey, you should get some rest.”
“I was planning on staying here for longer. Until the sun rises, something like that.”
“It’s not you Karma. You just have to go home.”
He was home faster than he went to the bar. The drinks made him disoriented and he stumbled into the table. He trudged over to the couch and stared at the coffee table for a minute before realizing that something was very wrong. The letter was gone.
“Fuck.” His eyes widened. Sobering thoughts filled his mind. “FUCK FUCK FUCK.” He stood up and turned the table over. It was lighter than he expected. He turned around and looked for it between the couch cushions. “WHERE IS IT.”
The doorbell rang. He threw a vase at the door. The door opened. Maybe he had forgotten to lock it?
The mailman stepped into his house. When he took his hat off it was the bartender. Karma threw a book at his face and stumbled to the ground. What looked like ink was dripping off of the man’s head until his hair was a familiar orange. There was a ringing in the house and Gakushuu frowned at him.
“Please wake up Karma, you’re scaring me.”
It was the third month of the year, two months after Karma had placed himself in a coma, when he woke in a cold sweat and the events of the past rewrote themselves.
Gakushuu was pacing in the washroom when he decided it was time to say goodnight to Karma. He’d be back in the morning. The letter he’d found in the shoebox under his bed clarified some things, sure, but it still hurt. The letter was proof that he had failed Karma and that Karma knew this. The walk back to the hospital room felt like it stretched on forever, and since he had the habit of talking to Karma he decided on the topic of what the nurses said could be their “last conversation.”
“Look, about the letter, I’m sorry if I overstepped at times,” he said as he opened the door. “The truth is I don’t know if I can-“
“Gakushuu?”