Today is going to be a great day. The sun is shining, we have nothing demanding to be done and we're expecting a parcel from Temu. I worry that I'm becoming addicted to Temu; we've already bought quite a bit from them, I spend quite a bit of time browsing and if Marilyn ever makes any off-hand remark that she could use something, I'm straight on to it. Today's parcel has some new sheets and a couple of those things you attach to the bottom of toothpaste tubes to make sure you get every last drop. Can't wait!
I wrote this next story in 2023 and I must have been feeling unusually sentimental. I've called it ....
DEAR JOHN 0CTOBER 8, 2023
My wife is not often short-tempered with me but this morning I could hear an edge to her voice as she called me from the garage.
“I’ve just found your old briefcase in this store cupboard and I thought we had agreed that it was time to get rid of it. You know we’re short of space in this unit and we can’t afford to hold on to rubbish.”
It was a fair comment but I couldn’t help thinking that we could easily find more space if she would agree to donate more of her old clothes to the City Mission. That’s a conversation for another day if I were ever brave enough.”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I called out. “I’ll come and get it.”
The briefcase had sentimental value; it had been given to me when I started work at my first job in November, 1965. I had been employed as a Trainee Accountant and I remember I turned up on the first morning, wearing a business shirt and tie I had borrowed from my father, so I would look the part. I was also carrying the briefcase which I thought was an important part of the image although, on that first morning, it contained not much more than a clean handkerchief and a sandwich for my lunch.
I retrieved the briefcase from the resentful hands of my long-suffering wife, gave her a rueful grin and shuffled off to my study to see what it contained. It wasn’t a very large briefcase and I wondered why we couldn’t find room in this reasonably spacious unit for such a tiny chunk of my history.
The catch had become a little rusty but clicked open after a bit of effort. At first I thought it was empty, but digging a little deeper, I found that it contained just one small envelope. The once-white paper was discoloured now and the glue had deteriorated. Inside the envelope was a single sheet of writing paper folded three times. I was curious and opened it.
“Dear John,” I read, and memories came flooding back into my, now, middle-aged brain. I remembered I had written this letter on my eighteenth birthday. I must have been suffering from an attack of some teenage angst, perhaps influenced by The Beatles and George’s obsession with Indian philosophies. Somehow, I had thought it a good idea to write my future self a letter. I remember thinking that I ought to write on the cover NOT TO BE OPENED UNTIL 2015. Why 2015? Because that. was 50 years on and my pessimistic self could not imagine that I would still be around. In any case, it didn’t matter. I had almost forgotten that I had even written the letter.
I waited until I arrived home after work before reading more deeply into the note. The house was quiet so I poured myself a glass of wine and settled down, not knowing what to expect. What did my 18 year-old self feel moved to write to his future persona?
“Dear John”, it began. “I’m writing this letter on the occasion of my 18th birthday and hope I have the strength of will to leave it unopened until at least 2017. Still, knowing how forgetful I am, I’ll likely not remember that I’ve even written it and some future descendant will find it in a hundred years and chuck it in the rubbish”.
“Anyway, I hope that everything is well with you (me!). Our politicians tell us that the world is heading for disaster and the catch-cry is Mutually Assured Destruction. I don’t know whether to believe them but I thought I should write this letter in the hope that I’ll still be around in 50 years time. If I do happen to find it some time in the new century, I wonder whether I will open it, or will I just throw it into the bin.”
“As you can see, you were pretty mixed up. On one hand, you were looking forward to the future. You started your first job recently and were excited about it, but you will already know that and will also know how that worked out. You were wondering whether you will marry. You’ll remember that you didn’t have a steady girlfriend but you lived in hope. You couldn’t think beyond that”.
“You’ll remember, too, that you were really interested in music so I want to finish this note with a few words from your favourite band. I hope they are still remembered into the future and I suspect they will be”.
“All you need is love”.
I took my eyes from the page and was surprised to find myself wiping away a tear. Bloody Beatles! I knew they would have had something to do with it.
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