Illustration Friday: Mail

For this week's Illustration Friday topic, "mail", I had a simple idea which I thought would best be illustrated simply. So I drew it rather quickly in ink on a large sheet with a Sharpie.

* * *

A: (Wide-eyed) Is that IT? Is that the whole post? That couldn't be all there is - not in Dan Kent's blog! He always has something to say!

B: (Frowning) Too much to say if you ask me. The man doesn't know when to shut up!

A: (With derision) So, who asked you?

* * *

Well, it does seem like a rather short post, and I do happen to have a true story about the mail that springs to mind.

* * *

A: (Delighted) See?

B: (Throwing up his hands) Oh Brother.

* * *

I remember a sunny day a few years ago when a letter arrived in the mail at our home. The letter was scented with perfume and my name and address were written with beautiful penmanship on the envelope, as only a lady could write it.

"What's this?" my wife demanded. She handed me the letter.

I inhaled the sweet scent and examined the envelope. It was addressed to Fr. Daniel Kent. A small bead of sweat rolled down my forehead, although I knew I was innocent - really I did.

I opened the letter. My wife leaned toward me. I leaned back and cupped my hands over the paper as I read the long handwritten letter. It turns out that the woman was hoping I was the Daniel Kent she had known. She was depressed and wanted help. She was writing to the man that had been her priest.

I handed my wife the letter. "How could you ever have doubted me?" I asked, wondering all the while what would have happened had the contents of the letter been different.

I located Father Kent through the local archdiocese, and forwarded him the letter. He said he'd call the woman. We spoke on the phone and exchanged holiday cards for a few years. And that was that.

Sometimes, even now, on sunny days when the postal worker is walking up our steps, I feel a cold breeze carrying a sweet scent. At those times I shutter, wondering what is about to be delivered.

* * *

B: (Pretending to gag) Shmaltzy. I hope he's done.

A: (Indignant, with hands on hips) Aw come on, that was a great story and you know it!

B: (Brows furrowing, crossing his arms) Hmmmph.

* * *

Happy holidays everyone!