A Letter Away From You

Chapter 16

I once heard a story about the people in ancient history. Honestly, if I could have a choice between history or science classes, I'd choose the latter. Although scouring the lives of our ancestors through our own eyes is more than just an experience.

Wandering in the wilderness for a long span of 40 years, the Israelites might have gotten their feet swollen from waiting and waiting. Impatience begets suffering, and their tour around the deserts is the outcome of that.

I never did know that patience pays off. In my whole twenty years of running around in my barefoot soles, I've only twiddled my thumb only a couple of times.

Waiting for my coffee to brew, water boiling for my cup noodles, Gibs finishing his breakfast, and so much more. But not even once I've received a token, or a reward per see, for the simple things I spent my time dwindling around for.

Echoing in the background was my minute and thirty-second timer for the popcorn I put earlier, while still, my mind couldn't process what was unfolding before my eyes.

"Emails have been retrieved: This is an automated message, there is no need to reply."

What emails? This memo is placing me in a maze I can't seem to get out of. Just when I thought that after four years of sitting tight just for you, it'll finally pay off. I guess luck doesn't even have its charm when it comes to me.

Nevertheless, this email is still a lead. A lead that can pave the way to find you.

I grab the freshly popped kernels out of the microwave, as a brim of smoke seemed to burn the tip of my finger. Placing it in my mouth was the best option; it gets it wet and cools it off.

Shaping each bowl and spoon in our food tray, I wipe off a drop of my sweat to ensure no harm can touch the art I've just performed. Got to live with this boy, got to understand, need to understand.

Gibs is somewhat a perfectionist. Well, he might have gotten some of it from me. He doesn't eat when his fruits aren't clustered together and doesn't even sleep with the pillows scattered in his little crib.

With time and time of trial and error, countless crying and kicking, I've perfected the craft of fulfilling Gibs' wishes.

"Hey, eat now." I presented my Michelin-worthy plating of strawberries and raspberries, with a side of fruit loops. Together with his milk, he examined each component of the tasting menu I've brought him. He seemed professional, and so I carried on with his act. Did they already teach him this in heaven? Oh, I'm sure that must have been a nice place.

"You've been staring at your cereal for a few seconds now without touching it." I began to doubt the skill I've built for moments like this. Was the cereal soggy? I even separated the milk.

He was just there, about to finish handpicking his fruits into his mouth, but the lone bowl of cereal was left untouched.

Clearing a gaze at me, he broke off the silence, "White little thing stuck below the cereal nana."

What little thing? There, I realized that fruit loops had no such ingredient with the color white. I transitioned myself into investigator mode, zooming on what made the cereal peculiar.

The item in question was a white substance. Gas, liquid, or solid, is the unknown I had to find.

After seconds of mixing and turning around with my trusty shovel I call a spoon, the small barrier to my brother's snack finally came to light. I gave my head a light tap in disappointment, as it was just a nibble of the popcorn I've been helping myself with.

"Oh, a kernel." I chuckled at my brother, hoping to lessen his tension. "Who might have put this in here?" I continued.

As I attempted to reach the dish full of cereal to change it for another one, the little boy suddenly placed his hand on the other side.

"I'll eat it nana." He filled his hands with the cereal, blue ones first then followed with the red loops. "You cook it, I eat it."

A smile was imprinted on his chubby cheeks. I'm impressed Gibs, very impressed.

It's instances like these that put the strain off my mind, I almost forgot what has been stressing me for the past hour.

The email.

It's not just Gibs' bowl of cereal I'll perform my autopsy on, but also showcase my Sherlock ability with the anonymous email I received from no other than Mr. Uriah himself.

What does this "Email received" mean? I cycle over the most recent emails I had from this address, all accounting to four years ago and just this one today. It hit me hard that he's been gone for almost five years now.

God knows how I've spent almost a fourth of my life in the chase for where might you be. I might have been living under a rock. You may be are lodging the best times in your life while here I am, still head over heels for you.

So in love with someone I haven't even talked to personally, nor have seen.

Are you even real?