There was a note upon my door,
Said don't make me no coffee Babe,
'cause I won't be back no more,
And that's all she wrote, Dear John,
I've sent your saddle home. - Hank Williams, Dear John
"I love you, good night."
Those are the last words she said to me. It's been three days. As I sit here in the dark on my couch, in my empty house, alone, I can not help but think, where did I go wrong? We were so happy, we spent every evening and every weekend together. As I sit here, with the little purple envelope on my lap, I reminisce on our happy time. I brought her out for supper every Saturday night, and to an activity of her choice on Friday night. We had couples game nights on Tuesdays, now I can't go, I can't go alone. I'm alone.
I woke up at 4am on Sunday night cold, there was no one by my side.
"Babe? Val? Valerie??"
I got out of bed and checked the bathroom, the door was open, that's when I noticed. The shower curtain was gone, and so were the mats off the floor, and pictures off the walls. Panic and worry filled my throat and the pit of my stomach. Had we been robbed? Has Valerie been kidnapped? How could I possibly sleep through something this big? (I am a very heavy sleeper.)
"Who's there! Valerie! Val, are you okay?!"
No response. I ran to my room and grabbed the receiver of my telephone. About to dial 911, I noticed the room was cleaner than it had been earlier that night. Not clean in an "I've been robbed, they took all my stuff" way, clean in a "something is completely wrong" way. The drawers of the dresser were torn open and emptied. A single pair of red panties left, half under the bed on the floor. Her favorite stuffed animal was missing off the shelf, the one I had won her at the carnival on our first date, ten years prior. Her engagement ring was left in the box on the table by my side of the bed, with a little purple envelope neatly tucked underneath. I slowly hung up the receiver and walked over the the little purple envelope and simply stared.
Here I am, sitting on my couch, in my dark empty house, notice I did not say home, because without her it is not a home. I am alone. The small purple envelope, addressed to myself from Valerie set in my lap, unopened. All her possessions have been taken, all our stuff is gone. She left me, I can't believe she would leave me, I love her so much. She is my life. I wonder if the envelope contains a phone number, or an address. I need to contact her, I need to know why she left. I'm twenty-eight, she's twenty-six, we've been together for ten years. We love each other. I sigh and turn the little purple envelope around, and I prepare myself to open it. I haven't slept, and I am not prepared to read what is written in deep purple ink across the pages, yellowed with age.
"I love you sweetheart. Don't you ever forget how heavy my heart is for you, no matter how bad it gets. I didn't want to leave you, you told me you would understand, and that you would love me forever. I know you are reading this letter, written in my favorite purple pen, wondering what the hell I am trying to tell you. I know you don't remember."
I don't understand, what does she mean I told her I would understand? Of course I don't remember? Was I drunk?!
"As I sit here on my deathbed writing this, I hope you will forgive me for leaving. I love you with all my heart sweety, forgive me."
Deathbed. . . and I passed out.
I was thrown out of my deep sleep at the sudden "bang bang bang" of the door. The small purple envelope on the floor by my feet, the purple inked letter laying in front of my face. I slowly got to my feet, wondering why I had slept on the floor last night. Why didn't Valerie wake me up? Was I drinking? My head is awfully sore. I inch my way towards the door.
"Good morning Dad, rough night, huh?"
Who was this stranger at my door calling me Dad? The only son I know of having is six years old, asleep in his bed upstairs. I'm only 34, it's impossible for me to have a son his age, he has to be in his fifties.
"I'm sorry Sir, I don't understand why you are calling me "Dad" you have to be at least twenty-years older then me."
"Dad, it's time to go, they say you ran away again. I figured you came here."
"Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about! I am not your father, my son Jacob is upstairs asleep, he's only six years old!"
At that I slammed the door, locked it, and stormed back into my living room. Now back to the real question of the morning, what is this small purple envelope I woke up to this morning?
I picked up the envelope, completely ignoring the letter, written in dark purple ink. I looked inside, and saw some photographs. There is what seems to be a family portrait, a small boy, about six-he looks just like Jacob, maybe it was me as a child. I then look up at the parents in the Polaroid photograph.
The door opens and I look up at the man standing on my doorstep.
"You have your mother's eyes Jacob. Bring me back to the home."
No comments:
Post a Comment