The Letter

Hidden away on the inside of the jacket he found a letter, its creases worn. It was one he had read a thousand times, but that he'd not seen in quite some time. The jacket, a black, leather biker’s jacket which he'd once worn nearly every day, had been tucked away in the corner of his closet. The motorcycle he’d long ago gotten rid of, but he couldn’t ever bring it on himself to get rid of the jacket. Once more, he opened the letter and read.

"Oliver,

I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from, but I feel I have to write this. If you can find it in your heart to give me another chance, I'd love to see you, get to know you again. I know I've messed up a lot, and I’m so sorry for all of it, but I have my life together now. I'd love it if you could be in it, even if in a small way. I'm living in my mom's home. Come visit anytime.

I love you."

She hadn't signed it but of course he knew the letter was from his mother. Five years had passed since he'd received it in the mail. He didn't know what annoyed him more: the fact that she'd actually written him the letter or the fact that she hadn't had the courage to deliver it by hand. He’d received it stamped in his mailbox, yet they lived not twenty minutes from each other.

Sighing, he tucked the letter back into its pocket and pushed his arms into the sleeves. He knew it was time to see her. If he couldn't find a way to forgive his mom then how could he expect his own son to ever forgive him? Mistakes happened, and he’d realized it was time to leave hers in the past. A new start might be nice.

The drive went quickly and before he knew it, he stood before his mother's door. With a deep breath, he rang the doorbell.

A chime echoed through the house and just a moment later a young lady opened the door. “Can I help you?” she asked. Her eyes were red and black mascara was smeared below her eyes as though she'd been crying, but all he could think was, "Who was this stranger who answered my mother's door?"

"Yes, I'm here to see my--I'm here to see Julia."

The young lady held back a sob. "I'm sorry, but you're too late."

Not understanding he replied, "Excuse me, but I don't know what you mean."

"Julia passed away not an hour ago," the young lady told him, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh...no," he whispered, taking a step backward.

"I'm sorry. Who are you?" the young lady searched his face.

"I am--was. I was her son."

Her eyes widened as he took another step backward. "No, please don't go..." she hesitated a moment before adding, "You must be Oliver. I'm your sister. Well half-sister, I suppose. My name is Jenessa."

He stopped short, shocked at her words. Sister? He had a sister? She had to be at least twenty years his junior. He looked into her eyes, past the redness and smeared mascara, and was startled to realize how much they reminded him of his mother’s. His mother’s eyes, which he’d never again get the chance to see.

"Would you like to come in?" she asked softly, holding the door open.

"Yes," Oliver nodded, taking his first step into his mother’s house in at least twenty-five years. "Yes, I very much would."