by Kit Duncan
"Honey, can you take this letter to the post office?"
Sallie handed me an envelope.
"You mean the mail box?" I asked.
"No, I want it sent special. Give it to Sandhu at the post office, she'll know what to do with it."
"Okay," I said. "Need me to go now?"
"Oh," she said, "I expect it'll hold until after dinner. I fixed your favorite. Fried chicken. Here," she took the letter back from me. "We'll just put this on the mantle for now."
After we had cleared the table and put the dishes away, I went into my room for a few minutes. I seldom went in there during the day except to get something. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked around.
I picked up my flute and blew a few minutes, and smiled at the tenderness and the memories. I played with the ivory amulet between my fingers, and piddled with some of the other treasures in my jump box. I was remembering more and more from my earlier lives, and my earlier eternities.
I wrapped my teal afghan around my shoulders, closed my eyes, and felt the warmth of Silas and Sallie's love. I folded it carefully and draped it back across the foot of the bed.
Sallie kept a small stack of floral stationary and envelopes in the drawer of the bed stand. I took out a sheet of paper, wrote a note, sealed it in an envelope, and stuffed it in my pocket.
Silas was reading a book, but I couldn't see the title. Sallie had started a new afghan, bright red. She had just finished two other ones, much smaller, and also red.
"This the letter?" I asked reaching toward the mantle.
Sallie glanced up and said, "Let's see." I held the envelope up, and she said, "Yep, that's the one. Just give it to Sandhu, she'll take care of it." She returned her attention to the afghan, and I slipped the envelope from my pocket on the mantle where Sallie's letter had been.
I started out the front door, but before it slammed behind me I caught it, stuck my head back in, and called out, "Silas? Sallie?"
They both looked up at me.
"Just wanted to say thanks," I said.
"For what?" Sallie asked.
"Well, for dinner and, well, for everything. I really appreciate it."
"Well, Honey, we're glad to do it," said Sallie. She smiled and returned to her red afghan.
Silas peered at me over his bifocals for a few seconds longer, then said, "You be careful on your way, little Newbie. Mind you don't get lost."
"Well," I laughed. "I expect if I get lost I'll eventually find my way home. That's how it works around here, ain't it?"
Silas winked a twinkled smile at me, and returned to his book.
It was another gorgeous day in Paradise. I met a couple of boys headed down the road away from town. They were tossing a large ball back and forth. One of the boys missed and the ball landed in the gorganians. They stayed in bloom, Silas had told me, until late September. The shorter boy ran in among the rainbow flowers, grabbed his ball, and threw to me. I played with the ball and the boys for a few minutes, then waved goodbye.
Sandhu took the letter from me and put it in a cubicle high above the shelf behind her. "Tell Sallie we'll get this right out," she said.
I walked along the main street of Wilsonville. The general store still had Cory Larson's sign over it, but the librarian had insisted they install a new sign at the library a couple weeks after he had jumped in the pond. I stopped and played a quick game of checkers with Tom, and then I walked a little further.
I found myself standing on the pitcher's mound at the softball field. I could nearly hear the thunderous roar of the fans from both phantom teams mingled among the bleachers together.
"Hey, Batter, Batter, hey, Batter, Batter, hey, Batter, Batter - SWING!!" I smiled, and stepped off the mound.
I walked to the pond. Sitting on the park bench near the pond's edge, I realized there were many questions left unasked, and some already asked whose answers I did not yet understand. I wondered where animals went after they died, and would King, my childhood German Shepherd, ever take long walks with me around the neighborhood again and sleep protectively at my feet? Would I ever ride my Arabian mare Desiree again?
I had not asked Silas about ghosts, grim reapers, or poltergeist, and I wished I had. I knew, in my deepest heart, that the first house I had owned, in Reading PA, was occupied by the three deceased sisters who had lived in the house for sixty years before I bought it. I had many questions about spirits tooling around their former residences, but I had never gotten around to asking, and now the questions would have to wait.
And what about the Bermuda Triangle? Had there ever been life on Mars? Did Atlantis exist, and if so, where was it now? What became of the people from the Lost Colony? What's the real story about crop circles? Was the earth originally populated by people from another planet? Did Anastasia Romanoff survive her family's slaughter? Did Jesus have a little girl named Sarah? Were there hedges on the edges of the Universe, or did space just keep on going?
Did the Australopithecus, Cro-Magnon, and Neandertal have souls?
Is it true the Santa Claus prefers tequila over milk and cookies? Was Elvis still alive and doing well? Why do fools really fall in love? And which came first, the chicken or the egg?
And what was the relationship between Christopher Marlowe and William Shakespeare? Surely Silas would know that!
The answers to many mysteries, I smiled to myself, would have to hold until a later time, a later life, a later eternity. Not all my questions had to be resolved right now. Everything catches up with you eventually, or maybe you catch up with everything. Sometimes you just have to have a little patience.
I looked out across the pond, idle in the summer afternoon. I walked to it slowly and looked around me. I didn't see anyone. I slipped off my shoes and placed them neatly by the bench. Dipping my big toe barely into the water, I watched the little baby ripples swim lazily across the pond. The water felt cool, refreshing, inviting. I smiled, and stepped backwards about fifteen paces.
I looked around one more time. No one. I sucked in two lungs' worth of eternity, ran like I had an armadillo snapping at my feet, and lunged myself into the pond with all my might.
I made myself a big humdinger of a splash.
About the Author
Kit Duncan is a licensed clinical social worker with over thirty years of experience in working with families, children, couples, groups, and individuals. She holds the Master of Science in Social Work degree from the University of Texas at Arlington, and has done postgraduate work at the University of South Carolina at Columbia.
Kit taught college for fifteen years and has been a presenter at numerous national and regional conferences and workshops. She has been the Clinical Director of Human Services Consultation since 1987. She is the author of several novels.
Kit lives in central Kentucky. She plays the Kiowa love flute and other instruments.
