It was dark out on my porch. The kind of dark I imagined ancient Rome to be, save for a flicking candle in the distance, ready to submit to the gentle wind. There was a car slowly rolling by my house looking for an address. The dome light inside was on, I caught a short glimpse of his face. He looked at me for a second and turned into my driveway.
I stood up to greet him, confused and anxious. He asked me if I could do him a favor and hands over a bag with some clothes and a box wrapped in tin foil at the bottom. He said to me “Place it on her grave, I can’t hold onto it anymore.”
I made a promise to him that I would do as he asked, if not only for the fleeting idea that there were people in the world like me:
Lost, lonely, relying on the promises of a stranger.
The night before I left home forever, I sat on my porch and opened the box that was made for you.