My family, friends, everyone I’ve ever confided in, sitting together in a semi circle with an empty chair sitting across from them, facing towards the group. My Aunt Emilia moved her chair slightly away from my Uncle Robert, her ex-husband. There was that sound. Wood scraping against wood, making that terrible, aching screech.
What did I do that was so terrible that I deserved an intervention? Or what was so terrible that I was about to find out about that they think may cause me to need one? Either way, I expected to be faced with something much more morose than my loved ones looking at me disconcertingly.
A week earlier, when I came home from college for summer break, I found a small package in the mail that was addressed to me. I began tearing it open as I headed toward my house. As I stepped inside, the words overtook me. I leaned against the frame of the front door and read:
Typically, invitations are sent out for for those who are invited to something. Which you are not. It is in your greatest interest if you would attend. Your obligation is to arrive at 335 Ronan Place 562 in Berkshire Hills at 9 p.m. on June 9th, promptly. Something is waiting for you there. Come alone, as I duly noted, this is not an invitation, particularly not an open one. Upon your arrival, you will simply walk up to the house, open the door and step inside. Further directions will be given to you at that time.”
That was all. No return address, no signature, no clue as to who sent me this. Along with the letter, I was given a single bronze key, which had an attached note that read “This is not for use of the entrance.” I felt that I had no choice but to attend to this demand. I was unsettled the entire rest of the week questioning what could possibly be waiting for me at that address. When June 9th arrived, I couldn’t rest all day and my stomach felt like I just stepped off of the tea cups ride after eating one too many pieces of greasy pizza. Despite my unease, at 8:30 that evening, I called a taxi and headed to Ronan Place.
* * *
“Hello, sweetie” my mother said as she walked around the corner from the hallway into the entrance room. She took a seat in the center chair facing the group and invited me to take a seat along with the rest of my family.
To Be Continued…