In the end, Chris decided, it had all been about the snow. If he had not trusted the weatherman – or had managed to pack up and leave before Lee showed up with that package – everything would be different now. But there was the snow … almost six inches of it and of course, everything happens for a reason.
Chris sat on his bare living room floor, the hardwood cold and uncomfortable. The stark white walls cast shadows across the room, a single lamp sat in the corner providing a dim beam of light. The lampshade had been removed and the naked bulb blinked every so often as if struggling to remain lit.
The contents of the package were sprawled out in front of him.
Life works in such mysterious ways, he thought, shaking his head. The emptiness of the apartment surrounded him, and all he could do was laugh. Right at this very moment, all of his belongings were being shipped to sunny California, where the same weatherman who had predicted the current snowfall before him had also said that LA was a pleasant, breezy sixty-four degrees.
His flight had been scheduled for 10 a.m. that morning. But after listening to the weather, he had assumed his flight would be delayed. Of course, he was right. He took his time packing, thinking he might take a slow drive out to the airport sometime around noon, knowing he would probably be there for a while. But … the snow. It just kept falling and it wasn’t the nice, soft fluffy snow. It was the icy, hurried sporadic snow that landed everywhere and every which way.
The airline informed him to come to the airport anyway, as his flight would be taking off as soon as the snow dissipated. He should have left then, that was around 1 p.m. But for some reason he lingered. Maybe it was nostalgia; leaving an apartment that had seen so many sides of him emerge, where so many new and exciting experiences had occurred. Maybe he had wanted to hold on to that just pinch longer, before he gathered up the memories, slid them in the back pocket of his faded jeans and left for a whole new life.
Buffalo had been the only home he had ever known. His foster family raised him till he was old enough to move out. He finished high school, worked his way through college and had lived in this very apartment ever since. Another chapter of his life closed, one lay ahead, yet to be written. He was heading to California to pursue a dream and nothing was going to hold him back from that – at least that’s what he had thought.
Somewhere around 2:30 p.m., he had decided to finally leave. He opened the door, ready to step out and take the plunge into the wintry world before him, when he had come face to face with Lee, the mailman. Lee had to be at least in his sixties and should have retired a long time ago. But for some reason, the slogan “through rain, sleet or snow, the mailman delivers,” was branded into his brain. He truly believed that delivering mail was his calling, no matter how old he got or what the weather doled out. And he had been doing it for 40 some odd years.
“Afternoon Chris,” Lee tipped his hat. Snowflakes were stuck to his eyelashes and his storm colored beard. “How ‘bout this weather?”
“Afternoon Lee,” Chris smiled. “Through rain, sleet and especially snow, eh?”
“You betcha,” Lee laughed while he fumbled through the sack slung over his shoulder, rummaging through stacks of letters.
Chris squinted through the snow and out into the street where all he could see was the blinking yellow lights from Lee’s mail truck.
“How’s the driving?” Chris asked, already knowing the answer.
Lee took one look at the suitcase leaning at his side. “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere anytime soon,” he said.
Chris nodded. The snow had somehow gotten worse in the last hour, he should have left right after he had called the airport. Forget taking off, just getting to the airport was going to be a challenge now.
“I’d wait a little longer if you can,” Lee advised. He finally withdrew a medium-sized package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a double-knotted string. “You’ll have a chance to enjoy whatever this is,” he said while handing Chris the package.
“I wasn’t expecting anything,” Chris told him, puzzled.
“Un-expectations are the joys of life,” Lee winked.
Chris grinned. Lee was famous for making up words or phrases that somehow made sense, no matter how strange or outrageous they sounded.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Well, enjoy it – whatever it is. Although, I don’t know what could possibly come from Ashland, Virginia.” Lee adjusted his mittens and closed up the sack.
“Did you say Ashland, Virginia?” Chris asked.
“Yep. The center of the universe, I think they call it. One of the smallest towns in the country.” Lee, of course, was always full of useless information as was every other mailman in the country.
“I don’t believe it,” said Chris. He quickly scanned the package for the return address. “I don’t believe it,” he said again. He may not have known that Ashland was the “center of the universe” but he did know that Ashland was the place where had been born.
“Well, I’ve got to be getting back to my route …” Lee started but Chris had already backed inside the door and yanked his suitcase with him.
He had carried the package eagerly with both hands, turning it over and over as he walked into the living room. As if forced by the presence of gravity, he stopped instantly and plopped himself down in the middle of the floor. It was Christmas morning all over again, as he tore through the paper bag type wrapping and into an old shoebox. Inside were dozens of pictures, letters that were written but never mailed, and a birth certificate. He had scanned every last one, taking in the short, yet detailed history of the life of the mother he had never known.
The room was growing darker and he crossed the floor on his knees to turn on the lamp in the corner. Crawling back to the open shoebox in the middle of the floor, he relived the emotions that swirled through his entire body when he had found out that he had been born in Ashland, Virginia to one Margaret Mitchell. He had managed to obtain a mailing address and sent a letter that was rewritten at least a hundred times before he had actually mustered up the courage to mail it. That was almost six months ago, before winter had settled in and before he had decided to move to California, before the predicted snowstorm, and before Lee had delivered the package.
Now, he sat entirely bewildered with the opened package in front of him as he read one letter, handwritten to him from the mother he had never known.
“My Dear Chris,” it began before it dipped into the unanswered questions he had held in so close to his heart for so many years. It explained her regret, delved into her sadness at giving him up, and revealed her joy at receiving his letter. The letter fell from his hands and floated silently to the floor.
“Unexpectations are the joys of life,” he repeated the Lee-ism out loud. The words reverberated off the walls. He glanced up at snow, the unexpected blizzard that fell without abandon from the sky. He had to call the airport again.
Reaching for his cell phone, which he had taken out and set on the floor beside the contents of the shoebox, he noticed a photograph he had overlooked. He plucked it between his finger and thumb and drew it up to his face. There was a woman dressed in a seventies getup, hair done up and a wide smile stretched across her face. She was holding a new born baby wrapped up in a fuzzy sky blue blanket.
Chris turned over the picture slowly and read the handwriting on the back.
“Maggie and Christopher Mitchell – 1978.”
At that moment, there were no words – just a single tear that formed and fell along the side of his face before he had a chance to catch it.
As he packed up the shoebox, carefully replacing every picture of his mother and refolding every letter, he picked up his cell phone and called the airport. At that moment, he wasn’t concerned about California, his belongings or the snow.
“Hi, yes, I’m calling about Delta flight 5879 to Los Angeles. It’s cancelled now? That’s okay.” Chris glanced once more at the picture of his mother holding him, taking in her smile. “I need to change my destination. How much would it cost to get a flight to Ashland, Virginia or the closest airport to it?”