The Envelope

By Scott Brown

It’s got my name on it, and it’s just waiting there for me. I feel the cold run through my veins.

I know it’s from her, as the handwriting is unique.

It has been 22 years since I left home, and despite the rapid advances in technology she always favoured a hand written note. More thoughtful and personal content she would say. She was convinced that some things in life didn’t need to be sped up. Less communication is more deliberate and meaningful.

We used to privately critique those who sent birthday or Christmas cards without a bespoke message. Simply hi and bye. Something that Nicky Haslam would for sure have on his annual ‘things I find common’ tea towel. 

When I left in 2003 I was troubled. My teenage years had been long and transformative. The kid with the confidence and charm, has been filed down like a finger nail. My environment hadn’t wanted me to shine, it had wanted to dim my light.

She was the only one cheerleading. She gave me the confidence to be me. Don’t fear the darkness she said, fear the light. Oh how I would love a cup of coffee with her now. 

Today is 9 years since she passed, and every year I look at the envelope. 

Do I get more curious about its contents with the passing years? Perhaps, but I also grow fearful.

Once it’s opened I will never have a letter from her to open again. That scares me.

If I hold it close to my nose I can just about detect the faint fragrance of neroli and patchouli that she used to spray on her letters. Along with impeccable handwriting she liked a whoosh of fragrance to hit you upon opening. She was class.

As the afternoon passes into evening it still remains intact. A cheque would certainly be out of date now. I sit pensively debating the what’s and the why. If only she were here to ask.

She would be perhaps annoyed that I have waited 9 years to get this close to tearing it open. My patience or fear she might mistake for insouciance, but she knows me better than that. 

Our coffee chats were always inspiring. She made coffee only in a moka pot on a gas ring. She was always present and patient. A real skill in the 21st century. 

My attention for detail I got from her. Do it properly or don’t do it at all. Sage words that transcend time.

During all of this reminiscing night has snuck up on me. It’s now too late for me to contemplate looking inside the envelope. Good or bad news just won’t allow me to sleep and I need to be sharp tomorrow. Big day at work. 

Next year will be 10 years, maybe that’s the right time. She loved anniversaries.