Open With Care

Not long ago my grandmother gave me a large sheaf of papers from my senior year of High School -1984. Report cards, letters , schoolwork and memo pads full of notes I don't remember taking. Photos and drawings. I used to kid myself that I could draw. Sometimes I still do.

So I took these papers and I placed them into a box I unearthed in my closet- this box was another treasure- I thought it was full of useless junk , but instead it contained cassettes and photos from my 1980's "rock star" days.
Here's one of me playing on a stage somewhere- I can't tell where. In it , I have very long hair a a top hat and a T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a popular local Psychiatric Hospital. I look wide-eyed and weirded-out, like I was just released from the asylum moments before hitting the stage.
Strange, since stage fright was never a big deal for me.
Oh wow.
What a rush those days were.

I remember throwing painted eggs into the audience during an Easter weekend gig. Some were not boiled. Hah! That's punk rock!

I still have the top hat.

Bear with me- I can't go five minutes without having some long-lost memory resurface and claim my attention. I think my mind is waking up after being in a drunken coma for twenty years and all the black-outs are starting to black -in . I'm enjoying this, but it's making it difficult to focus on any one thing. Looking into this box of memories doesn't help calm down the noise but I'm compelled to sift through it anyway.

I see a folded letter. I can hear every sound that it makes. Loud. Rhythmic.

Do not unfold that letter even if it screams.Pleads. Begs.

It wants to help me. I know this to be true but I am too scared to move. Stuck. Frozen.
I don't know what I'm afraid of.

That's a lie. I know exactly what I'm afraid of.
I'm very aware of what I'm hiding from myself.
It's not a dark secret.
It's not a misdeed.
Nothing of the sort.
It's not something that would seem the least bit odd to anyone but me.

So there's a box. In the box is an envelope. In the envelope is a letter I really should read.

I don't think I'm quite ready yet.

Soon though. Very soon.

I should put this box down before I hurt myself.

-----------LATER, BUT NOT MUCH-----------

Eye opened letter and it is unred. That is not a typo.