The street was longer than most, I always thought, as I walked down the unending sidewalk that wasn’t even broken up by cracks from normal wear and tear. It seemed to stretch into tomorrow with its meandering gait that was anything but straight. And I walked it every day on my way to buy orange juice from the corner store, so it was as familiar to me as my nephew.
Until one day when it wasn’t. You see, it had rained that blustery morning, and the wind had dried up all but a few patches of sidewalk, creating miniature ponds out of puddles, as proper as could be. Indeed, one of the puddle ponds was deeper than the others, as I found out when I splashed directly into it, drenching my new socks I had gotten at Sears just the day before.
As I bent to examine the full extent of the damage, I was surprised to find a lone piece of paper next to the circle of water. I would have completely missed it were it not for the fortuitous puddle it accompanied. The state of my new socks forgotten, along with the orange juice as well, I retrieved the paper from its position on the ground.
On deeper examination, I noticed that it wasn’t a pure white at all, but a muted shade bordering on aged yellow, like the kind you find old documents written on. It was also rigid, which made sense considering it had been rained upon and then blown dry. I wondered how long it had lain in that position on the expanse of concrete.
I rationalized that it couldn’t have been very long, as I myself had walked that same hallowed ground just the day before. Sometime in-between days someone had misplaced a sheet of paper and would probably be looking for it, I surmised.
It was a letter, I noticed right away, as I sat on the wet curb and opened it then and there. I never was one for suspense, especially when there was a possible conundrum to solve. The letter was addressed to a woman named Fiona, from Thomas. I read the entire missive voraciously.
My dearest Fiona, …the time we spent together. And it’s no wonder that you find me vapid and unassuming… All this time and I never knew how one thing could have led to another… providence has beguiled us with its phony hands gloved and in pockets… Dreaming these dreams we always do until we awaken, I remain yours. Thomas.
It was dated February 14 with no further evidence of the year, but it was obviously old and of great value to someone. I thought about how I would feel if something that valuable to me was lost, possibly never to be found again, and I vowed to walk that sidewalk twice a day from then on, ready to pass on the letter to its rightful owner if and when the time came.
Then I continued on my mission to get orange juice, with wet socks on my feet.
Sam
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