I’m currently at my parent’s home down in Atlanta for the holidays.
I still get a fair amount of mail at this address, because any time I had to give an address in college, I gave my Atlanta address (since I was moving around so much). My mother kindly collects my mail–even though most of the letters, offers, invitations have expired by the time she gives them to me–and puts them in a pile on my bed when I come home.
This time, a few days before I came home, my mother called me and told me that a letter had arrived by priority mail, sign-on-delivery, for me. Thinking that it might be something business related or time sensative, she called to let me know about it. However, when she read the name on the address sticker, it was not one I was familiar with.
My first day in Atlanta, my mother hands me this letter. Again, no lightbulbs upon seeing the return-address name. I opened the letter and found a check and this note inside:
Dear Ms. Katherine
Your check was found on the floor of Miss Shirley’s Restraunt in Baltimore Maryland. I’m returing it to you.
Sure enough, the check I saw was in my own handwriting (with my Atlanta address still unchanged in the upper left hand corner), made out to my roommate for December rent. … We had already presumed the check lost in the abyss of antique chairs in our household, and I had issued her a new check. But this solves the mystery of what actually happened to it.
Thank you, kind, decent person.
