As I walked along my new street today, I looked down at my polka-dot flats and thought about how I need to invest in some cute shoes that don’t make my feet look like I’ve just completed some insane athletic endeavor when I’ve actually just walked a few blocks. I felt the yellow leaves crunching beneath my feet and thought about Fall. I thought about field hockey and how Fall didn’t really feel the same without it. I thought about how I need to buy batteries for my Swiffer Wet Jet.
And then I saw something.
It was a note.
I walked by it, not planning on paying much attention to it, but then my eyes started to read it before my brain could even process what I was doing. I saw the following phrases: “for who I am,” “I love you,” and “forgive me.” About a block later, I wondered if I actually saw the words “forgive me.” Maybe I just imagined them. Regardless, I could feel some kind of sad attempt at apology clinging to me as I passed by. I felt like I had done something forbidden; it was like I was on the kind of television show I don’t even watch. This note was – is – part of a serious tragic love story.
The note was written on two pages of Four Seasons notepaper. It was signed “ –R.”
I didn’t pick it up. It took all of my strength not to take it and read it, but I didn’t pick it up. Instead, I just thought about a man sitting in a Four Seasons after having inappropriate relations with another woman. I couldn’t even come up with a possible draft of what the letter may have said. I was then too busy cursing my culture for making my first vision of this note’s origin one of adultery.
There has to be some other explanation.
(To be continued…)
Yes, I just did that.