She stands a little over five feet tall, but her personality makes her seem like a giant. The 80-year-old walks swiftly if slightly bent to the mahogany bookcase. Her fingers rifle through several hardcovers, pulling out slips of paper as she searches. She stops after several moments and smiles at her grandson, handing them over. His curious gaze softens as he examines the yellowed stamp sheets.
“Will these be enough?” she asks him, smoothing her long pleated skirt absently with her empty hands.
“Yes, I believe so, Gram,” he replies, counting the cents diligently, “but don’t you want to save these? They could be worth something.”
“They probably are, dear,” she smiles, “however I have no use for them and I do not wish to sell them to someone who would keep them imprisoned in another book for fifty more years. These deserve to get mailed, see the world a bit, and carry out their original purpose.”
“As you wish, Gram,” her grown grandson replies, his forehead creased in unspoken disapproval.
“Your grandpa would have wished it so,” she says softly, running her hand on his face in appeal.
“Yes, he would have wanted me to do whatever makes you happy,” he laughs, looking at her with adoration, “he knew better than to not listen to you, at any rate.”
“That’s my boy!” she cheers, grasping his hands with hers, “and you are welcome to keep any left over for whatever investment schemes you are mulling over in that brilliant brain.”
She moves toward a scratched oak desk, opens its top drawer, and retrieves the vintage bauble someone bought from her grandson’s eBay listing. He takes the delicate thimble and explains, “I am an old woman with many things, and I wish to share my treasures with those who will appreciate them – not store them away for the sake of my memory, dear. Thank you so much for helping me.”
He nods in silence, unable to say anything without betraying emotion in his voice and wraps the small purchase in bubble wrap, slipping it into a mailer. His grandmother and he take turns placing the stamps on the envelope. They talk and smile at one another; it becomes a treasured moment between them.
“Where is this package going, anyway?” she questions as he buttons his coat and prepares to leave, sealed envelope in hand.
“New York City,” he states, “The buyer was eager and requested expedited shipping.”
“The city that never sleeps,” she muses, a dreamy smile easing over her face, “Your grandfather and I went to New York once, before your mother was born. It was a busy, dirty place, but we had such a good time.”
“Yes, I would like to visit New York someday. We plan on settling down here in California, but I promised Leanne we would go see the Statue of Liberty.”
“You must take her there soon, then,” his grandmother advised as they hugged goodbye, “It’s best not to keep your bride waiting on those types of promises.”
There is a back story to this envelope, and this could be one of them. More possibilities to come.
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