Fixing the Past

He had not been expecting a letter. In these days of electronic mail and texting, who writes letters? Even his bills came to him electronically, so he only checked his mailbox a couple of times a week.

He stood in front of his mailbox, staring at the envelope. Even without looking at the return address, he knew who had sent it. The handwriting was too ornate, the letters too perfectly formed, to be anyone else.

Standing in the lobby of his apartment building, he was transported to another time. He'd been barely 19, full of himself and sure he didn't need anyone's help. He certainly didn't need the opinion of an old woman who was completely out of touch. At least that's what he'd thought then. As it turned out, his grandmother had been pretty smart, but he'd felt like he'd burned that bridge and couldn't even apologize to her.

Years after it happened, he realized his grandmother had only had his best interests at heart. At the time, though, he was angry and felt that she was using his inheritance against him. His parents had meant for that money to be his, but their will stipulated his grandmother would be in charge of it until he had graduated from college or turned 30.

When he'd decided to quit school to pursue a career as a musician, he was sure he'd be able to talk his grandmother into letting him have the money. When she refused, he'd been shocked and he lashed out. Even now he could hear the venom in his words, though he could no longer feel any of the anger. He'd said horrible, unforgivable things to a woman who had only wanted the best for him.

She hadn't abused him. In fact, she'd showered him with love, and after his parents died, she'd done everything she could to make a good life for him. Of course, he didn't see that at the time. In hindsight though....

He finally forced his feet to move, and he headed for the elevator that would take him to the fourth floor where his apartment was. Once inside, he put the envelope on the coffee table as he went into the kitchen to pour himself a stiff drink. He had a feeling he'd need it.

A few minutes later, he was sitting on the couch with a glass of whiskey in hand and staring at the letter sitting on the coffee table. He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn't help but feel that the envelope was going to come to life and strike out at him like a viper.

His 30^th birthday was the following week, and he'd expected some sort of communication from an attorney about the money, but it had never occurred to him that his grandmother would write to him personally. They hadn't spoken since he stormed out of her house all those years ago. He knew that hadn't been her choice. She was a proud woman, but she hadn't shut him out. Their estrangement had been entirely his fault.

He didn't know how long he sat there before taking a long swallow of the alcohol and setting the glass aside. He had to turn on a lamp because there was no longer any sun coming through the large window. He finally reached for the envelope and moved his finger slowly under the flap. Inside was a single sheet of paper filled with his grandmother's old-fashioned penmanship. It took him another swallow of whiskey before he could actually concentrate on the words.

He thought his grandmother would be fully justified to send him an anger-filled letter, or one that was just business. What he saw written, however, brought tears to his eyes. She wished him a happy birthday, and expressed her love for him. She told him that she knew he had eventually gone back to school, was now working at a local bank, and played guitar at a small club on the weekends. She'd heard that he was very good, though she'd never doubted his talent.

She included contact information for the attorney who would handle the transfer of funds to him. Before ending the letter, his grandmother invited him to call and provided her own phone number, though it hadn't changed in over 20 years.

He read the letter again, skipping over the part about the money, but had to wipe his eyes before reading it a third time. He set the letter on the couch, and reached for the telephone.