Letters from Home

He had not been expecting a letter. Jake never expected a letter. All he ever got in the mail was bills and junk. No one sends letters anymore, what with cell phones and email, no one ever sits down and puts pen to paper. Besides, all his family had long since passed away and what friends he did have had slowly drifted away as well.

But there it was; hand addressed to Jacob H. French with no return address to indicate who it may have been from. He turned, went back in the house and opened the envelope. It contained a single sheet of hand written paper.

"Jacky my boy! How are you today? Sorry to hear you've been having a rough time. I'll see you soon. We have a lot of catching up to do."

The letter was not signed, the sender a mystery. The only person who ever called him Jacky was his father. Whoever sent this must have known his father and Jake a long time ago. He looked at the envelope, "That's odd, no postmark." Jake shrugged his shoulders and dropped the letter on the table.

Jake had a splitting headache this morning. He had really tied one on last night. He had been commiserating with a bottle of Jack Daniels nearly every night in the weeks since he lost his job. Sure, they called it "retirement" but he knew what it really was.

He could not remember anything from the previous night after he turned off the television. That Conan fellow couldn't hold a candle to Leno. But then Leno was no Johnny Carson either. As Jake walked through the living room he mumbled to himself, "I really made a mess in here last night. I should clean that up."

Jake went out to the backyard and sat in the lawn chair. He looked around the yard at the knee-high grass and the little garden plot over-run with weeds. "I need to get off my butt and take care of things around here." He sat for a while blankly gazing around and eventually went back in the house.

Wandering aimlessly from room to room looking at the cluttered memories of sixty-five years, thirty-five spent in this house, Jake could only shake his aching head at the years gone by. Having no more whiskey to numb the pain, he went to bed with no Conan or Letterman to bore him to sleep.

The next day he awoke with his head still hurting but better. He went to the front porch and there it was; the same hand written address, no return address, no postmark through the stamp and, could that really be a 32 cent stamp? It's been over ten years since that was the correct postage. Jake took the letter back in and looked at the first letter. It too had only a 32 cent stamp.

Jake opened the letter. "Hello again Jacky. Hope you feel a little better today. See you soon!" Who could this be and why will they "see me soon" when they can't even sign the letter? How is this getting through the mail with an old stamp and no postmark?

He passed through the living room again mumbling he needed to clean up the mess. He wandered through his day, room to room, house to yard, thinking of nothing but the letter until he again fell asleep.

In the morning he went directly to the mail and there in the building clutter of junk mail was another 32 cent stamp. "Jacky, everything will be OK when we see each other again. Soon, very soon."

Jake thought someone is playing a bad joke on him. There will be Hell to pay when he finds out who it is. Another aimless day passes and another short note with an old stamp arrives. "Jacky, why are you making us wait? We want to get together. It will be just like old times."

The next day another letter, "Jacky, Son, this has gone on too long. We need to see you and talk. Everyone here misses you." Jake is enraged, "Son! Who is this bastard? Dad has been gone over ten years. You won't think this is funny when I find out who you are!"

The next morning Jake is awoken by a knock at the door. As he rushes through the living room he hears the rattle of the last breath escaping from his lifeless body resting in the easy chair. He sees the gun still in his hand and the dried blood spattered from the wound in his head where his shaking hand had misplaced the shot.

He opened the door and his father said, "Welcome home Jacky. Mom and the family have been waiting for you, Son."