Oliver Benjamin
“Are you kidding?” he laughed, “They’d just weigh me down.”
“I know what you mean, my friend. I think, Yippee, maybe I
finally understand where you’re coming from.”
He shrugged. “Well, that makes one of us.”
Joe jumped in, “Say, any time you want to take a misery tour,
Jake, you let me know. I’m thinking, maybe Bangladesh next
summer.”
“How about coming to Los Angeles instead? I’m sure you’d find
plenty of misery there. And you’ll always have a place to stay. That
goes for all of you, by the way.”
“Perhaps some day,” said Vikash. “Meanwhile, we will speak
your name often, and you will always be with us in our hearts.”
We talked a while longer, but I was too tired to continue. After saying
our final goodbyes, I waved them off and laid back to rest.
While adjusting the pillow my attention was caught by the
writing on one of the letters still in the stack my mother had brought
me. There was no postmark on it. I recognized the handwriting.
Tearing at the envelope, I pulled out the single sheet.
Take me back.
was all it said. It was signed simply,
Charly.
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