The Letter

Woo hoo! Quitting time. My favourite time of every workday. (except if the day also happens to be payday). That special time of day when I, Russell Putman get to flee from my dead-end job. The second my eyes see the clock turning to 4:00pm, I spin into a frantic rush to leave my toxic, energy-zapping, stale-aired work environment. I yearn never to return to this job. But for now, I settle for leaving for the day.

I put on my winter coat, wrap my scarf around my neck while simultaneously slipping into my black winter blundstones so I can face what appears through the window, to be the start of another snowstorm. I lightly stamp my feet on the floor to ensure comfort. I am almost ready. Next, I reach for my messenger bag and began tossing the few personal items I bring home with me daily. First my glasses, then lunch/snack containers, my phone, some candy from the stash I keep in my top desk drawer; and of course, my black journal notebook. I take it with me everywhere because my phone is never fully charged and if an idea or feeling might strike me I want to be able to scribble it down. My little black journal is the place where I can safely pen all my worldly frustrations until my breathing calms the inner hurricane and my soul acknowledges some good things about life. Mustn’t forget my favourite zip sweater either. I bundle all my items in a hurry, physically mashing them into my narrow canvas messenger bag (seemed easier to close this morning). I fling it over my shoulder so I can walk rapidly out of my office before anyone can stop me with a “quick question”, which invariably requires a complex answer.

With a final glance over my tidied desk to ensure nothing has been left behind, I bolt for the door. Unbeknownst to me, as I was leaving my cubicle, the strap of my messenger bag snagged on a cabinet door, causing a minor tear. Though I felt the slight tug backwards, I assumed the strap was caught on my coat so, without checking, I yanked it and made my escape. I went out the rear office door and into the stairwell which was located directly across the hall. I pushed the stairwell door open and almost flew downstairs. My feet barely touched the edges of the cement steps. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall into the ground floor exit. I dodged around two people chatting on the other side of the exit door. I smiled and gave a brief nod as I rushed passed them. Then it hit me.

A gust of icy wind slapped my face, as a reminder of being thrust outside in the onset of a wintery mess. I want to get home fast, but the blustery weather had other intentions. Though the city train station was a short walk from where I work, the path to get there was covered with ice and snow.

I trudged forward as swiftly as I could. Then I heard the sound. There it was again. The first few rings of the bell indicating the train’s arrival. I hoped that it might be the train heading in the opposite direction, but I picked up my pace just in case. I don’t want to miss it. Only two stops by city train, followed by a short 3 block walk and then I would be home and be able to relax. The day had been extremely intense from start to finish and all I yearned for, was to unwind with a hot shower, some leftovers for dinner and some quality time with my cat.

Luckily, I entered the station at the same moment my train was arriving. Success! I stomped my snow-covered boots on the platform and managed to squeeze onboard. There was barely enough space to stand, but the journey was short. Two stops later, I was thrust back into the elements. The crowded train spilled out sending the vast majority toward a connecting train, while I took my leave of the station altogether.

Once back outside, my agile feet moved carefully over the snowy ground. Snow continued. The city seemed deserted. After my gruelling day of dealing with annoying people at work, I welcomed the peace & quiet. I headed west into the direction of the blowing snow. The crystallized snow flakes irritated my skin as I pulled my scarf higher to act as shield. Fortunately for me, the sidewalk was empty. In a short while this street would be filled with workers eager to get home. For now, it was just me and the burgeoning storm.

Finally, as I reached the corner of my street, my left foot slid on a hidden patch of ice. I steadied myself mid-fall and swung upright to face the last stretch of fifteen steps. The wind had temporarily quieted down, blocked by the tall buildings. I stepped forward, and in doing so, I heard something drop. Immediately I stopped and began to search the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my black notebook had tumbled out of my bag into the snow. Without any concern for my footing or for the other items contained in my injured carryall, I reached down to snatch it up. Although a few flakes of snow had dissolved on the hardcover, the contents remained safely protected. Not wet. Phew! Not damaged! As I silently rejoiced, I automatically grabbed the torn corner of my messenger bag with one gloved hand while with the other, I lifted my notebook, to reveal my glasses case were underneath it in the snow. Somehow the case attached itself onto the journal’s elastic chord. Both items were now saved. I tightened my grip on my wounded satchel, and was about to carry on when something shiny caught my attention.

At first, I was unable to identify what I was seeing. Curious, I knelt down to sweep the snow away so it could be more visible. A glittery stamp dazzled in the brightness of the snow. It was stuck on an envelope. I picked up the envelope. I mentally noted the gorgeous stamp and was then shocked to discover that the address on the envelope was mine. The letter was postmarked yesterday and the return address was some obscure P.O. Box, written in bold print along with some unrecognizable symbol preceding it.

Without hesitation, I flipped the envelope over. Using my key, I sliced open between the back flap and side fold. I slid out the contents. Inside, was a single sheet of paper. A letter, which once unfolded, revealed a cheque addressed to me with a few more zeros than the refund cheque I had been waiting for, so I glanced again. My eyes widened with amazement as my brain acknowledged the sum stated in plain sight: $20,000. A huge grin unfurled my tired brow and warmed my face. Suddenly I realized during this experience, I forgot I was still standing in the cold and snow. I needed to get inside my home at once. I made one last scan of the ground around me before I headed to the front entrance with keys still in hand to let myself inside out of the harshness.

With a firm grip on everything, especially the cheque, I made my way inside the foyer of my building and then headed directly to the elevator. I tugged the front zip pocket of my bag, reaching deep in the pocket first to ensure that no holes or further damage had come further damage had been inflicted to that section of my bag. Carefully I put the cheque into the zip pocket to protect it from getting wet or worse, before I could read the letter.

Once settled inside the coziness of my warm home, with my boots off to drip and my coat hung to dry, I opened my messenger bag carelessly leaving its contents sprawled over the front hall bench. I took hold of the letter and the cheque along with my glasses and made my way into the kitchen. Despite the fact that the lenses kept fogging over, I put on my glasses. I flicked on the bright pot lights to illuminate the space. I placed everything I held on the counter top of the white quartz island before wandering over to fill the kettle. A few minutes later I returned with a hot cup of steeped earl grey with milk and one cube of brown sugar stirred. I sipped my tea and sat down to finally examine the letter and the cheque more closely.

It appeared to be a cashier’s cheque (instant money once deposited). The cheque was made payable to me and endorsed by a local law firm in town. I recognized the firm’s name because a friend of mine works there. Then I returned my focus to the letter. It was hand written but stamped twice and signed with witness signatures. No where did the name of my benefactor appear.

Written on pale blue paper, the letter was brief:

You may not remember me. We had only a brief interaction. You were so kind. You wouldn’t have known that your kindness mattered so much to me at a difficult time when I needed it most. Here is a little something to say thank you. Wishing you a better future as my path ends here. Signed W.

Consumed by these words. One phrase bothered me most. Path ends here? What path? Who is this from? Did this person die? I released the letter from my hand. I dropped it on the counter as I stood up and walked over to the windows. The wind rattled at my windows. Peering through the glass, I watched the sky turn blank with the storm intensity. But my brain didn’t switch off. It scanned through the muddled archives of my exhausted thoughts. I couldn’t pinpoint anything that would trigger a link or provide a clue to who the mysterious “W” was. The more questions formed, the more I felt overwhelmed.

Later that evening just before retiring for the night, I once again asked myself several more questions: Should I contact my friend Catherine at this law firm? Bad idea. I came my senses. What for? She wouldn’t be allowed to tell me any information even if she had access. Even if I did get a name, would I know this person or know how to contact them? And what if they are dead? I don’t want to contact some grief-stricken family member only to ignite their desire to attempt to regain these funds. No this was given to me from a kind person. I must come to terms, accept this generous gift and move forward.

The next morning, I made 2 decisions. Firstly, that I would keep the money without trying to discover the benefactor. I would accept that it was given to me from a kind but anonymous person.

Secondly, I decided to take the day off so that I could deposit my new windfall at the bank. There was an urgency for such decisive action. Part excitement and part fear of losing the cheque. The teller accepted the cheque and deposited it as I requested. The stress now lifted. I was free to spend my day off anyway I saw fit.

I was proud that I had exercised restraint by placing the majority of the money into my savings account until I had a sensible plan for what to do with some of it. I was sure my benefactor whoever it is, would be proud.

Best of all, I knew what to do next. I headed for a local coffee shop. Sitting with a latte and my treasured black notebook open to a blank page, I could formulate a list of all responsible ideas and reckless possibilities for my newfound wealth.