The mailman relentlessly delivers letters with his name on it.
I’ve been piling them, unopened, on a chair in my mom’s office.
A tower of wasted words.
My dad would come home from work everyday and ask, “Did we get any mail?”
And I’d say, everyday, “It’s on the table in the front. Exactly where it always is.”
And now here I sit, listening to Dave Brubeck at 2:26 AM on a Friday, back in this house I grew up in.
With just a pile of memories.
Last night a friend said to me, “Goodnight Mr. B.”
It was an innocuous close to a conversation but it warmed me like a cup of hot cocoa. The one my mom would always make for me after coming in from playing in the snow as a boy.
There was no way for my friend to have known, but this is what my dad would often call me.
I haven’t thought of that in quite some time.
Another memory for the pile.
And I honestly may have forgotten it forever if my friend didn’t just “coincidentally” say it.
Why is coincidentally in quotes?
Because, as I was explaining the significance of her goodnight sendoff, I was simultaneously thinking, “I wonder if this could be a message from him?”
And just then, as if Rod Serling was hiding behind the closet door, the lights flickered in my bedroom.
Maybe I’m grasping at straws but, aside from memories and mail, straws is all I got.
“In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success