The Letter

I have arrived at July 23, 2013. The road I stand on is sunbaked and cracked, lined with sealant. There are several houses that could only be described as ordinary. I walk up the familiar street. This road is unused, its only purpose, as a residential area. The road is mere a formality.

I stroll up to a semi-detached house. A rusty, dark green Toyota occupies the driveway. The lawn was parched. Not even dandelions could grow. There were several drooping sunflowers, healthy-looking roses and a shrimpy evergreen tree that would grow to become a magnificent specimen.

I stared at the familiar yet distant house with some nostalgia. I heard a door opening and quickly pulled on my hood, pretending to be a passerby. A pudgy Asian boy bounced out, calling back through the door, “Sunflower seeds, coming right up!”

I walked up to him. I had only one chance. Trusting little boy he was, he did not rush back into the house. “Hello!” he shouted.

“Shhh, quiet. I have a present for you,” I said, producing a toy car.

“WOW!” the boy exclaimed. “Is this for me?”

I nodded. He stared at the car in fervent admiration. “In return for that car, I want one favor,” I said.

He replied, “OK.”

I hesitated, then told him, “On your vacation tomorrow, I want you to spend as much time as possible with your grandpa. Ask him to write a letter to take back home. Take lots of pictures with him. Try to remember as much of your time with him as you can. Then, get the pictures and the letter and put them in an envelope. Tape that envelope to the bottom of your bed.”

He nodded and went back inside. I found myself back in my room. I removed the package from under my bed, looked at the pictures, and started to read the letter.

My grandpa passed away in 2015. I never got the chance to know him, so this is what I would have told my five-year-old self if I had the chance.