ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Presents and Confessions

Vignette - Presents and Confessions
Dramatis Personae Eric
In Absentia	2017-03-21 '
Location <NYC> Lighthaus - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
It’s late in the afternoon when the boxes appear in front of the front door of Lighthaus. The Harbor Commons security cameras catch a few seconds of the delivery itself -- a uniformed police officer stepping literally out of a shadow, dusting a few clinging bits of shadow off of the boxes, and placing them down on the doorstep. The police officer steps back into the shadow and vanishes from sight as quickly and quietly as he had come. Both are wrapped in a simple blue and grey striped wrapping paper, tied with a somewhat haphazardly tied red bow. Tags hang off of the top of the bow on each, one labeled “To: B”, one “To: Shane”. Neither of the boxes are particularly large -- in fact, most of the inside of the boxes is empty space. B’s box contains two envelopes, one with a handwritten address of “To: B, From: Eric. Happy birthday.” The other envelope’s address is typed and addressed to “B Minh Holland-Zedner, ℅ Eric Sutton” The first letter from Eric reads: Dear B, I know I’m far from your favorite person. I’ve hurt people you love, people that I care about. While some of it couldn’t be helped, others could. I want to do better; I need to do better. Please believe that I do care about you and your brother. Anyway, I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, B. You’re rich enough that I didn’t know what to I think I managed to find you something that you will enjoy. I hope so. Your friend, Eric The second letter is much more formal, typed, with only a single flourishing signature handwritten on the bottom: Dear Mx. Holland-Zedner, I’ve received word from our head of security that you might be interested in diving in our Ocean Voyager tank independently. While normally we don’t allow unescorted guests, nevertheless after hours, I have been assured that you are an impeccably capable diver and equally attentive to the health and welfare of marine life. To that end, please contact my office at your convenience and we will arrange a time for you to come visit when the aquarium is closed to the public and you can dive in privacy. We will schedule a marine biologist to be on-site to answer any questions that you may have. Sincerely, Dr. Timothy Mullican, DVM Senior Vice President and Chief Zoological Officer, Georgia Aquarium Shane’s box has more inside. There is another envelope, similarly addressed in Eric’s handwriting, which has something coin-sized inside. Besides the envelope, though, there are four bags of green coffee beans and one bag of tea, each carefully wrapped in different manners and with all varieties of languages on the bags. The only commonality is that an index card is tied to each in Eric’s handwriting, each carrying the name of the farm the beans were sourced from, as well as a contact person at each of the organizations. Each bag comes from a different region, and each from a cooperative of one kind of another: an indigenous cooperative from Mexico, a collective farm in El Salvador, a co-op born from black market trading in Uganda, an association of three of the longest running co-ops in Peru, and a Church organized society focusing on tea farmers from indigenous and marginalized castes in India. Inside the envelope with the letter, there’s a small purple chip about the size of a quarter. On its obverse is “SCA”, and the reverse simply says “6 months”. Dear Shane, Happy birthday, Shane. I’ve wanted to write you for a while now, or bring it up when I saw you, but I wasn’t ready. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. This letter is still the cowards way out, but I don’t think I’m ready to say this to your face. You were right. I thought I was there for you, but I wasn’t. I was using you, and I didn’t even realize it was hurting you. I didn’t even see what I was doing, but that doesn’t make it any better. I should have been a better friend, a better partner, a better lover, a better--anything. I’m so sorry, Shane. I wish I could go back and fix the mistakes I’ve made, but I can’t. The only thing I can do to pay you back is to make sure that I don’t ever make the same mistakes again. I’ve been going to a group for a couple of years now, and I’m slowly getting control of myself. I’m six months sober--not a long time, but as my sponsor keeps telling me, it’s a start. I hope you’re doing well. Hopefully, one of these will help you with the cafe. Your (shitty) friend, Eric