A Curious State of Affairs

Dear Chloe and Lola,

Once again I have not made good on my promise to write often. It feels like a lifetime has passed since the last time I wrote to you. I suppose, in a manner of speaking, one has.

Amber went to the cupboard, poured me a glass of scotch and sat it in front of me. I downed the entire glass in one and pushed the glass back to her across the island counter.

“Another please,” I croaked.

Amber looked apprehensive.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “You still have to go to work.”

“I’m sure.”

While Amber poured, I picked up the next item from the yellow envelope. It was a ragged, faded envelope addressed to my father. It was post marked December 1978.

Amber handed me my second glass of liquid sanity and I drank it down. Bolstered by artificial sense of bravado that comes from drinking fine 15 year scotch, I emptied the tattered envelope of its secrets.