Two Stamps

The apartment shuddered as the Purple Line flew by his window. Fred sat on the twin bed as the vibrations slid up his spine. In his hands, two red Christmas cards flipped between his fingers, memories flipping in his mind like a photo album.

It had been a long year. He had lost so much. The two cards were for the last two connections he had. Each one carefully selected with his last few dollars of the meager monthly check the US Government sent in gratitude of his 15 years of military service. 15 hard years of travel and training, some combat he’d rather forget and a leg injury that ended the only job he really loved. Where he felt like he was doing something that really mattered and where he really mattered.

The first card had silver glitter that left a little sparkle on the worn quilt. Sparkle like her eyes the day he told her he loved her. He could still smell the subtle lavender scent of her smooth skin as she wrapped her arms around him. The kiss seared fire onto his tough heart.

It felt like yesterday, but it had been so long ago.

When he returned months later from that magical night by the lake, her mother said that she passed quickly. There hadn’t been time for her to be in pain, but that she loved him until the last breath. His rough hands opened the bright card as more glitter rained down onto the floor.

In shaky handwriting, holding a Red Roof Inn pen and with a small tear in his eye,

She’s still in my thoughts and heart. My soulmate. There has never been another. Her love was the best gift I ever received. I am well, and I hope you are too.

Merry Christmas.

Sliding the card into the red envelope, he sealed it tightly and turned to the second card.

Still red, but with a simple embossed gold imprint, this card felt cleaner and crisper. He opened to read a simple Happy Holidays in script. Simple seemed best for a man that he didn’t have words to express his gratitude. So many years ago, his brother shook his hand when he left with a stern look that conveyed pride and urgency. They had crossed paths in the hardware store last week, but the flash of recognition was one sided. Without his support, he would never have gotten on that bus after high school. He never would have had the confidence and he’d have been homeless or worse by now.

He looked around his small studio apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was his. A bed, a chair, a small tv, kitchenette & bathroom. He couldn’t work often, but he had a home and was happy.

Perhaps in the new year, he’d get a cat. He laughed out loud. What would his brother think of a cat?

His shaky hand picked up the hotel pen,

I hope your family has a happy holiday. I am well. I might get a cat in the New Year. Maybe I’ll name it after Dad.

Merry Christmas

Again, the card slid into the envelope and was securely sealed.

He sat on the bed and surveyed his small room. He had a small contract with a snow removal company – light snow was starting outside the window. Thank goodness, winter always meant a need for more heat.

He still needed stamps.

Pulling his duffle close, he scrounged in the bag – he’d need $1.10 for two stamps.

After checking all the pockets of everything in the small studio, he had just enough change for stamps, but not for the bus. He packed his winter attire in anticipation of snow. A tight fit in the small nylon duffle. He’d need to walk to the post office and then to the snow removal headquarters and the temperature was dropping.

Battle-worn boots strapped on tightly over his pair of wool socks, he took a big breath and heaved himself off the bed & out the door. It was about 2 miles to the post office and another couple miles to HQ.

As he walked between the quietly falling snowflakes, he thought about the two people who had changed his life so dramatically. He loved them both for their ability to see more in him than he did in himself.

As he opened the door to the post office, the line was long. He stood in the line with women in their fuzzy boots and men in their cashmere coats, shuffling back and forth. The eyes around him questioned why he was even there. So many people forgot that big houses were not standard, and here he was, a very real reminder that Mercedes and Tiffany’s were not the standard for all the residents of the village. It made everyone uncomfortable.

He approached the desk, shifted his duffle to the other hand, depositing the change on the counter and quietly made his timid request. The tired clerk smiled gently and showed him a small fan of options and he picked two colorful holiday options. She scooped up the change and traded him the stamps. Holding them tightly in his hand, he shuffled off to the lobby.

Putting his duffle on the lobby desk, he pulled the two red cards out of the pocket he had carefully stowed them. After affixing both stamps securely into the corners, in his unstable penmanship, he scribbled out the addresses on both envelopes from memory.

As if he could forget either one.

He hesitated over the return address. Would they even care? Hastily writing street and city in the return corner, he stashed the pen in his coat pocket and looked one more time at the two envelopes. He hoped they would understand and receive his meager thoughts as genuine.

As he picked up his bag, he quickly dropped the cards in the mail slot and shuffled out of the post office and headed south to the snow removal facility.

The snow was falling a little heavier.

It would be a white Christmas after all.