Hector Rodriguez
Nonfiction
RED ENVELOPE
I was washing my hands and face when through the mirror, I noticed an officer with her hands full of mail standing in front of my cell, asking me for my last name and din number. Rodriguez, 98 a 1419, I said to her as she searched her pile to see if I had more than one piece of mail. I didn't. The red envelope made a smacking sound when it hit the feed-up slot on the gate.
I waited for her to leave before walking to the bars, I leaned forward, peeked at the return address, and nodded my head in a surprised, shocked sort of way while picking up the envelope by the edges so that it didn't get wet.
I tossed it onto my bed, dried myself with my t-shirt,
and looked around for a bed sheet to hang on my bars for privacy. I took a chair and placed it facing the bed, and Red Envelope.
I sat hunch-back with one arm laying across my stomach, and the other one bent at the elbow, caressing my chin while pondering on the contents of her emotions clasped in that Red Envelope.
As if the pores on my face were rioting, they all started to throw out beads sweat as if each drop of sweat had a life of its own. They started to form patches of salty water around my nose, ears, and forehead.
A storm of old memories and illusions kicked off in my head as if they were threaded on a set of reels, playing over and over. Images of the first time I met her with those white
jean-shorts that seemed air-brushed on her. Her curly hair pulled back in a pony tail. Her complexion gave the impression that
it was double dipped in cinnamon. I let out a surprising giggle as the thought of her dimples forming every time her smile played on the reel of memories.
I picked up the envelope and brought it to my nose in search of her scent. I started to panic as my nose wasn't able to capture even a drop of it. My nose took a life of its own, and
like a bloodhound it was all over the Red Envelope in search of her scent, but the Red Envelope was free of her scent.
Disappointed, I opened it and saw a birthday card, some pictures, and some writing in a hot pink color. Seeing her unique handwriting sent uncontrollable chills all over my body. Her words, "forgive my tardiness••• I forgot to mail it on time•••
I love you the same••• you will always be special to me•••" and right next to her words in a deep pink color were her lips printed on top of the words Happy Birthday.
Nervously I brought the card. to my lips, held it there
for a moment, then I placed it back into the Red Envelope, picked
up the pictures, and one by one I study her smile and eyes.
I knew that if her eyes weren't sparkling, her smile wasn't
a genuine one. However, on this occasion she was happy. My eyes started to bulge up, and tears the size of sunflower petals started dropping to the floor. I picked each petal and placed them in an envelope with a note that read "Each one of these petals holds a memory of our time together, and apart from each other••• I am nothing••• but a flower-less stalk without you."
I sealed the envelope, walked toward the window, opened it, and asked the Autumn wind if she could carry this letter all the way to Brooklyn, and drop it off in an old friend's mail box?
The wind agreed to do this favor for me, for she is also a believer in true love, but as soon as the wind touched the envelope, I froze, and like dried up oak-leaves, the envelope and me turned golden crisp. Once the wind let go, the envelope full of my words and myself shattered into hundreds of pieces scattered in every direction.
The wind, upset that she couldn't deliver on her word, turned into a whirlwind destroying everything in sight. The world was in chaos, but it was the only way the Autumn wind could pay me back. She figured that the very next best thing
