Once And For All

The relief of finally arriving home after a long arduous day at the office, knowing it was Friday, and I’d have two peaceful days ahead of me was a brief one. The word home came with a sort of ache every time I remembered the place where I stayed when I wasn't at work. It was a dull, cold, small apartment that I resigned myself to for the last six months since my wife, sorry ex-wife, occupies the house that used to be our home. After nearly fifty expensive let’s-try-to-make-it-work therapy sessions, I knew that even though she was the one in the wrong, I’d be the one to move out. She’s the mother of my children and so regardless of right or wrong, the mother always got the house.

To give my residence a little spark of life, I adopted Nala, who I believe was probably human in a past life. She’s a quirky gray and white cat who I’ve caught on multiple occasions trying to use the toilet, but then falling halfway in and scampering to get herself out. She’s strange in that way but comforting to have around.

Upon arriving to the three-floor walk-up in which my four walls are now designated, I was greeted by the scent of fresh urine. A frail homeless man sat on the bottom step, shaking his plastic cup to the beat of “got any change,” appearing almost half asleep.

I was able to slip into the building as the tall, hunchbacked, teen boy in oversized clothes from the first floor was making his way out, bopping his head to some new rapper, whose music is trash compared to classic Jay-Z. I pulled open the heavy metal door forcing an exaggerated creaking sound and made my way inside. The walls were painted with a fresh coat of eggshell a few weeks ago as an attempt at upgrading the facility. Yet the floors, tiled with what I believed was a white and brown checkered pattern, remained dirty and dingy, so I can’t be entirely sure of the original color.

My first stop was the mailboxes at the base of the stairs. I slipped my key in the slot, expecting a few envelopes from various companies informing me of how much I owe them. Inside the mail cubby, I found not only three white envelopes from the aforementioned companies, but also a mini shoe box-looking package, wrapped in brown paper. I searched my brain for any recent online purchases, and I couldn’t think of anything. The package felt fairly light. Whatever was inside didn’t fill-up the entirety of the rectangle causing a light thumping on the sides when I shook it. My name, Isaiah Roberts, along with my address and apartment number were neatly written, but there was no return address. Only a handful of people had my new address, including my ex, my brother, and my best friend Mike, none of whom would've sent me something without giving me a heads-up. I took a moment to examine the package, shaking it a few more times, trying to determine the handwriting, and wondering where the heck this thing came from. Only one way to find out.

I trudged up the stairs to my apartment, loud music, cursing, and yelling were pouring through the walls, coming from one door or another. Inside my barley furnished one-bedroom apartment, I spotted Nala sprawled out on the living room floor. She looked up when she heard me, stared at me a moment, and got back into her comfy position as if to say, “oh you again.”

“Well hello to you too,” I mumbled as I headed for my bedroom. I put the package and my keys down on my dresser and looked at myself in the mirror. Internally I was shaking my head. The bags under my eyes made me look sad and old. I quickly changed out of the navy suit, I was required to wear for work, and into basketball shorts and a sweat-stained old white T-shirt. As I picked up the package to give it another shake, Nala strolled in on cue, and begins meowing as if she was now ready for me to entertain her.

I plopped down on the bed and she settled beside me. I started to pet her gently, starring at the package still in my hand. My mind started to convince me that maybe there was something bad inside. Maybe it was something that would automatically squirt onto my skin and inject me with some sort of lethal poison, like a sophisticated anthrax delivery system. I wasn't normally an anxious person, but the unknowns of the package were definitely causing a small knot in my stomach and I wasn't sure I was ready to find out what was inside.

I checked the time and saw that it was just after 7 PM and I knew Mike had just started his shift, so I called my brother, Maurice instead, to see what he had to say.

“What up brother?” He greeted me.

“Hey what’s up? I got a quick question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Did you send me something in the mail, like a package or anything?”

“Nah, why what’s up?”

“I don’t know man, somebody sent me some strange ass lookin package, no return address and I’m sittin here wondering if I open this thing am I gonna die? What if it’s a bomb? Maybe Keisha is tryin to get rid of me for the insurance money?”

All I heard was laughter over the other end.

“Helloooo, I called you for support not for comedy night.”

“My bad bro, I just think you need to get outside more cause whatever shit you’re watching on TV at night got you trippin. Dude nobody’s out to get you. It’s probably something you ordered ten thousand years ago and it’s just now getting to you. Relax.”

I thought about the possibility of what he said and knew I was too old to remember every single thing I’ve ever ordered so maybe.

“You there?” He said cutting into my thoughts.

“Yea.”

Even before I made the call, I knew he was going to tell me I was crazy. It wasn’t the response I wanted, but it was perhaps the response I needed. “Okay I’m gonna open it, but if you don’t hear back from me. You know what happened and I expect you to avenge my death appropriately.”

Again, more laughter, this time louder.

“Okay, okay I get it I’m crazy, that’s fine but I’m just sayin.”

“Alright dude, you good now?”

“Yea I’m good.”

“Alright later.”

“Or maybe not.”

He laughed again and hung up.

Though he'd just made fun of me, I was definitely in a better headspace now. I gave the package one final shake and ripped off the paper to find, what looked like a repurposed product box. The label was removed but not completely. I dug my index finger into the opening and pulled up the tucked-in tab. Inside I found an envelope with my name handwritten on it, a small burgundy photo album, and a gold-colored homemade CD. In the same neat handwriting, written on the CD, the words “Songs that make me think of you,” were written across the top.

I opened the envelope to find two pieces of soft pink lined paper folded in thirds.

Dear Isaiah,

It’s been more than two years since we’ve had any contact, though I’ve kept up with your life through Instagram and you’ve probably seen me too. I’m sure you didn’t really notice when I sort of slowly disappeared from your life especially with both our lives being so busy. But my withdrawal from your life was quite intentional on my part.

You were always a really great guy and a good friend. You were somewhat of a best friend to me at times and I’ve always appreciated your kindness and support through the trials and tribulations of what I’ll refer to as the learning phase of adulting aka our 20’s. You gave me sound advice when I was thinking about dropping out of grad school. You listened after my messy breakup with Kyle. Plain and simple you were just there. And up until you were set to marry Keisha, you really were just a homie to me. I think your impending nuptials sparked some kind of super late annoying epiphany. Either way, I wasn’t about to be some crazy chick who tries to stop the wedding in hopes that you might feel the same way.

The thing is, you’re divorced now, and even though I’ve been in a steady relationship with John for the past two years, I still wonder what if. I know I’m shooting my shot in the most romance novel way possible because I like creative projects, and this was the least terrifying way to do it. Take your time responding if you so choose to respond. I’ve mentally prepared for whatever outcome. I already know that you are not the type of guy to be an asshole about any of this regardless of where your current feelings stand, so I feel okay speaking my truth in this letter.

If you chose not to respond, I’ll still have love for you and will always wish you the absolute best of luck in life.

Love,

Myriam Williams

More knots formed in my stomach, this time not because of an unknown package, but because I was now starring at a letter from my college crush. Myriam Williams lived on my floor in Sweeting Hall freshman year. She was authentically beautiful, intelligent, and completely out of my league. From day one guys were vying for her attention and she often lied about having a boyfriend back home to avoid the dating scene. She was one of six people that made up my college friend group and so as far as Myriam was concerned, I settled into my position as one of the homies without thinking more was even possible. Eventually, that little crush faded as we all grew older and started living our lives outside the confines of campus.

On the first page of the photo album was a picture of us with our trophies, after winning a bowling contest. She captioned it Best Partner Ever punctuated by a little heart. The rest of the album showed some of our funniest moments together, us holding our fake ID’s as we waited in line to get into clubs, along with random drunkin' nights, karaoke events, and game nights. She took the time to not only showcase some of the best pictures of us over the years, but she included pictures with the entire gang, each page with a date and caption.

The CD featured songs like You Make Me Wanna by Usher, Don’t Let Go by En Vogue, and Lovers and Friends by Lil Jon, all with the friends to lovers theme.

Thinking about all the time and effort she put into everything, I couldn’t help the grin that made its way onto my face. I grabbed my phone to check her Instagram page. The tiny sliver of hope, a small possibility of something happening was completely shattered in an instant. The first picture on her page from two hours ago was of her and John in an embrace with her showing off a new sparkly engagement ring. My heart sank. How could she get engaged after sending me this letter?

I sent her a direct message. I got your package today. Seems I’m a little late. Things have changed quite a bit from when you sent it to now.

She responded more quickly than I was expecting. Things have changed yes, but I wouldn’t say you’re too late. I’m not a married woman yet.

Again, I was grinning, I wasn't too late. I suppose it was better to figure it out now than to wait until after the “I do’s” were said.