A trip to the mailbox. As routine as it comes.
“I wonder what it has in store for me today”, he thought. Not really. He was thinking that his nose itched a bit.
He pulled open the metal covering. He felt a momentary thrill. It was a package!
Upon further examination, he saw it had no return address. Odd. Throwing any amount of caution that may have been warranted immediately away, he pulled the package open. A clear, zip-lock bag was within. The bag contained a number of photos. Family photos. People he seemed to recognize slightly. With this was a handwritten, unsigned note ripped from a ruled, spiral-bound, three-punch-holed notebook. The note read:
“I found these in my file cabinet. They belong to you; so, I am returning them.”
He started to feel a slight bit of confusion, a tugging on his heart a bit.
“Should I know what this is about?” He asked himself. The note continued…
“This is not a gesture of kindness, goodwill, interest, friendship, or anything of the like. Do not use this as an excuse/opportunity to communicate with me. I have no desire to have anything at all to do with you. That is why these are being returned.”
He looked at the package a few moments. He re-read the note. He thought he felt an odd trickle, perhaps a tear come to his eye. Allergies only. He sneezed.
After he blew his nose, he went to the next door neighbor. Upon reviewing the address, he had seen that the package had been clearly delivered to the wrong house. He didn’t ask what THAT was all about.