The Note

The Note

“What’s that bright mark on your belt?” Jem asked the man coming out of the store.

“Huh?” he said, confused.

“That bright mark, on the side...”

“I don’t have anything,” the man said looking at his belt.

Jem reached over pulling the man’s coat back, “Oh! Sorry. I’m always interested in tools that clip to a belt. I’m in the business. I thought you had something there. It must have been a reflection. Sorry.”

“No problem,” the man said, looking at Jem like he was loonie.

Jem walked away, pocketing the man’s wallet, and planning on lunch at Sid’s.

Later as he perused the wallet he found all the usual things, his lunch money, of course. License, George Trent from Plainville, a couple credit cards, a coupon for tires, a library card, and health cards. He was probably retired, living a quiet life.

Then stuffed under a flap Jem found a very old, folded envelope.

Gently opening it, it seemed to be a letter. One page, a note really. “Dear George, I can’t wait for you to get home! I’m going out today to look at apartments. We can finally get married and start our real life. I love you darling. Sandy” It was mailed to a military base in Italy, in nineteen sixty-eight.

Why would he keep that note this long? Jem thought. Only one reason. It never happened. Somehow, he’d lost Sandy.

For the first time in his illustrious career as a successful pickpocket, Jem started feeling bad. When he got home he carefully folded the letter and put it in an envelope, addressing it to George Trent.

Maybe he was getting sentimental in his old age, he thought. Although, he did keep the money and ditched the wallet. Sentimental fine, he put his foot down at stupid.