Dottie Johnson opened the door of her apartment and moved towards the coffee table – where to her annoyance – a stack of envelopes laid sealed awaiting to be opened. After taking off her high heels and trench coat, she set her purse and keys down on the high-end table near the couch and propped herself up against the pillows. Once in a comfortable position, she moved her hands towards the neatly stacked array of letters and shifted the pile around so that their outline matched that of a swirling whirlpool-circling the coffee table and covered its wooden exterior.
Glancing between the bills, magazine subscriptions, and donations towards the local Children’s Hospital-Dottie’s eyes stared down at a manila envelope that had the most unusual characteristics than that of her usual mail. Dottie took the envelope into her hands and read the neatly printed handwriting that stated her name and an address clearly.
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Miss Dorothy Annie Johnson
The Griswold, Unit 1-1209
1117 Griswold St, Detroit MI 48226
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In the corner she found that the person who sent the letter was of a law office, Abbott, Butterfield, and Hannah P.C. Dottie tilted her head back and mouthed the names to herself repeatedly. Abbott. Butterfield. Hannah. Abbott. Butterfield. Hannah. Abbott. Butterfield. Hannah. As if stating the names would bring back any recollection. After repeating the names for the third time, and being unable to draw anything from her hippocampus. She sighed, grabbed a pair of scissors, and processed to rip open the top of the letter. Inside she pulled out a single piece of high-ended parchment that the secretary must have typed to reflect that of a professional letter. It read:
Dear Miss Johnson, My condolences to you and your family that I am the one to inform you of the late passing of your father, Mr. Harding Miller Johnson. His funeral will be at Unity Baptist Church of Detroit located not far from Downtown Detroit on the Sunday of the 21st of May. After the funeral your father [Mr. Harding] has instructed me that I must deliver that of the contents of his will to that of his eldest child-that being you: Miss Dorothy Annie Johnson, or that of his second child: Mr. Trenton Brick Johnson if the eldest or the youngest is incapable of attending. I, his attorney, must oblige to my client’s wishes. But I also must state that in order to receive the sum of your entitled inheritance YOU must be in attendance at the funeral. Once again my dearest of condolences to you and towards that of your family.
P. Albert Butterfield
Attorney at Law
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Dottie reread the contents of the letter for a second and then a third time. Her eyes shifted between the lines of funeral and will. She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t possibly believe it.
“He’s dead.”
Dottie sank back into the couch and lifted the letter so that it was raised towards the ceiling. For some unknown reason, she began to cry; salty tears tracing down the sides of her walnut cheeks. Dottie hadn’t heard from or seen her father since she was a teenager and suddenly after hearing the news of his death from this seemingly acclaimed lawyer, Dottie didn’t feel hate or anger at her father’s decision to leave her or her brother, all she could do was cry.
On the other side of the country, the second child received the same letter. Only to shred its contents into a crumbling pile of loose strips of paper. He never thought that his father would dare to try to reach out to his children after the stunt he pulled, but his old man must be trying to repent his sins against the actions he took without consideration of the mental well-being of his children.
The only good thing about his father leaving was it gifted Trenton the ability to craft a personal essay; that’s conveying his sorrows of abandonment and leaving the admission committee in tears and him receiving a quick acceptance letter to his dream school.
Once he took the feeble strips of paper to the recycle bin, he reached for his phone and dialed the number for his sister. As the phone began to ring, he spoke in a silent tone as if he was being watched – knowing that the words he spoke would make him sound guilty. “The old man is dead. Finally.” Â