sheryl
Hubert had never gotten used to the idea of machines operating as mail carriers. It could have been due to the extreme fondness he had for his own neighborhood mailman in childhood, or the deep intimacy he held with the hand written letters that used to arrive like captured moments of time, printed down into poetry from his now late wife.
He heaved a sigh and circled his wedding band around his ring finger. Pushing the mouse across the large oak table he clicked open an email from his only daughter, Emily. It had taken him days to reorient himself within this inbox and find his way back to the digital thread that had opened a door he had been trepidly waiting behind for years.
“I wanted to be sure you’re okay. Please don’t go out, not even for groceries. Do you have a mask?... We should talk. - Em”
His eyes traced the words once more. It had been two years since their last big political argument that had divided their connection to a damaging degree. A brave inhale. A glance at the far wall clock, 2pm on the dot.
As Hubert clicked what he believed to be the appropriate link to begin this digital video call, he was met with an alarming surprise of coming face to face on the other end with a llama. Was this one of those ads? Hubert blinked. The llama blinked back. A small name was written on the bottom left hand corner, “Hi, I’m Sheryl.”
Hubert’s heart tightened. Was it coincidence that this llama shared the name of his deceased wife? Hubert wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Any sort of trouble shooting was well beyond his computer comfortability and capabilities and the recognition of his wife’s name now grasped him with such steadfast attention, he couldn’t help but hope.
“Uh.. hi, Sheryl.”
The llama stared.
“This is, Hubert. I - ah, thought I would be speaking with my daughter, Emily, but well, here you are.”
The llama sat, waiting patiently, as if it could somehow truly hear and hold space for whatever he had to bring. So Hubert continued.
“My wife's name was Sheryl. You would have liked her. I wish it were her on this call instead of you, sorry to say, but then she could tell me what to do. She’d probably tell me I’m being stubborn and that I need to be open and I would tell her how afraid I am and how lonely I’ve been. How I get so angry sometimes. How Emily doesn’t understand how hard I’ve fought and how long I’ve worked for things to be different. And she’d tell me all of that doesn’t matter now. And what matters is that our daughter is happy and that I’m in her life, and that she knows above all else that I love her...”
Sheryl listened carefully as Hubert stared back.
“You’re right, Sheryl. Maybe I should just say that.”
Hubert found the red End Call button and clicked it with a, “Thank you.”
And as the screen went black, and the llama disappeared into the confusing mystics of the interweb, Hubert picked up his phone to make the call.
-b
April 27, 2020
Photo Credit: Iswanto Arif