S.W.A.L.K.
By Jacqui Wiley
The noise startled him, he jumped, and both the thud on the floor and the slam of the flap happened simultaneously.
It took a second for his heart to return to a normal rhythm and then he shuffled his way in his worn slippers out to the front door, and there it lay, a yellow envelope on the stone floor with the name and address looking up at him, written with perfect penmanship, the tops of the letters leaning forward to the right, almost reaching out for his attention, while the lower parts of the letters lay back to the left in a relaxed, casual way.
Just as it would have been written – she would have been relaxed, sitting upright at a table with her back straight and her two feet firmly on the ground, the top of the writing pad turned slightly to the left while her right hand lightly held the pen as she made it flow across the paper with ease.
He bent slowly, and picked up the envelope, then he returned to the kitchen and, holding the letter carefully, he turned on the kettle switch.
As the kettle began to become alive with the sound of its element roaring, he turned the envelope to look at the back, and looking up at him, were the capital letters ‘S.W.A.L.K.’ – sealed with a loving kiss.
He gently closed his eyes and he could see her perfect shaped lips, rosy in colour, full in size. He was brought back to reality with the loud click of the kettle shouting that it was ready for action.
He opened the lid of the kettle, carefully avoiding the steam to protect his thinning skin and then pressed the switch for it to boil again, but this time with its lid opened. It would boil continuously, failing to turn off until he assisted it in doing so.
He then held the letter over the steam; it billowed up and licked the glue until it softened under the flap of the sealed envelope. He was careful not to overdo it, held too close it would become wet and soggy and damage both the letter inside and the acronym; held too far from the steam, and it may tear and destroy the envelope.
He didn’t need to worry; he had done this many times before.
He sat down and lovingly read her words as if they had just been written and he savoured each one, he almost heard her whisper them into his ear.
He felt young and alive again, her presence surrounded him as it did every time the postman dropped the letter in the door.
As a tear slipped down his old and wrinkled face and dropped on the table with a splash just avoiding her letter, the feeling of being alone enveloped him and he knew he would steam the stamp off next and post it yet again, to himself to mark the next anniversary of her passing.
Jacqui Wiley is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet on Tuesdays at 10.30am in the Annebrook House Hotel. Come in and be sealed with a loving kiss.