Letter (A Small Written Piece)

I stood there staring into the dark depths of my mailbox. Did I see what I think I saw? Far back in the corner a small crinkled up piece of paper, hidden by the mail, unseen by the mailman. I squinted, trying to concentrate on something that was scribbled across it, but of course I couldn't make it out.

I raised my head, turning it to the left and right scanning the street for a culprit who might just be watching me in this very moment. There was no one.

A "what the fuck?" exited my lips before my eyes came to rest back on that little piece of paper. Not folded, not in a envelope. Simply balled up and tossed into my mailbox. I hoped it was just trash.

My hand slithered like a weary serpent to the back of the mailbox, my fingers lightly gripping an edge of the dreaded paper. I pulled it out slowly. Yellow construction paper. Purple crayon.

I was confused. And as I unraveled the paper, my confusion escalated. I stared, in awe, in my yard, in my t-shirt and pajama bottoms, at this weird letter.

Dear Mr. LeMont, (it started simply enough)

This is a letter of utmost importance. For you, my dear sir, are in the wrong. I must tell you, I will be blunt from this point on. Hoping that you heed my warnings and stay away.

This fascination with my mother is getting out of hand. I am telling you it must stop. No more visits. No more flirting. No more hotels. No more contact. I assure you that if you do not listen to me, you will suffer severe consequences for your addiction to my mother is unhealthy. She is married. You are married. Leave her alone.

The scribble beneath the letter was illegible. I stood there, holding it. Not reading it, not staring at it, it seemed like I was staring through it. At some unknown thing that would give me answers.

"Huh..." sighed over my shoulder. I jumped, turned around and looked right into the eyes of my wife, coffee in hand. She sucked on her teeth a minute and raised her eyebrow, "Whose wife, Mike?" The world froze, "Hm? I knew you were fucking someone else."

I just stood there. I really had no idea what else to do. She gripped the letter with her forefinger and thumb and with one sharp tug, it was in her possession.

And then she walked away. Leaving me standing there, at the end of the driveway. My arm still held up slightly, as if holding the letter. My mind was racing, screaming, freaking out...

"You fucking idiot. Why did you have to read it?"