Ghost of Christmas Present

I'm sitting here holding an unopened letter which I am dreading opening. It's the same kind of dread you feel holding a sealed letter from your first choice university, your unopened LSAT scores, or a newly arrived letter from your STD clinic. It's the kind of dread that requires a shot of whiskey to handle. It's dread because nothing you do or say can change what's already been written. It's dread because it's a an unchangeable determination of your future. Most of all, it's dread because it could mean the end of a gleeful hope that you secretly still harbor.

But then again, it's nothing but a letter. A Christmas card, more specifically. Nothing but recycled paper, a stamp and dried ink. Smaller than a bread box, thinner than Lara Flynn Boyle, and nothing at all but dead wood.

Now I'm beginning to over analyze, as I stare at this little piece of nothing. I memorize the way my name and address is spelled out in all lower case letters, and smile as I think of the care put in to writing a neat address. But what if no care was put into it at all? What if this envelope were just another in a sea of other acquaintances who warranted holiday greetings? I wonder if he was nervous when he wrote this card, or when he thought of what to say, or if he thought about it at all. I've decided he wasn't; the return address label and stamp are too neat, too parallel with the corners.

But after all, it's still just paper. If it were from my first choice university, I would be dreading rejection. If it were my LSAT or GRE scores, I would be dreading failure and ultimate rejection. Instead it's from someone I loved, once and perhaps again. Obviously I made the cut as to acquaintances who were worthy of cards, but what if it's generic? What if he wrote the same thing in all the cards? What if I open this card and it says nothing but "Merry Christmas."?

I suppose there's only one way to find out. Take a gulp of whiskey, and slide my finger under the seal...

"Happy Holidays."