By Mark Allen Schmidt
…I slid the phone into my back pocket, then looked at the envelope. My name was handwritten in pencil, I remembered, she liked to pencil things in. The envelope was barely sealed, I ran my thumb under the flap and took out the letter. It read:
Honey: Since you have this letter, you know I’m gone.
I want you to know you have been the joy of my life. The
Few years we spent together opened my eyes to the important things,
And closed my heart to the hurtful things.
In the future, you will have the opportunity to learn all you want about
Me and what I’ve done with my life.
For now I need to ask you to do something:
I’d like you to share a billion dollars for me.
Consider this a windfall for your world.
Love, your Auntie.
The letter fell from my fingers, and I could picture her smile. I didn’t get to see her one last time. The time I spent with her were my best childhood memories, those times where one of the few things I wanted to remember from my childhood. I reached for the letter, What did she say about a billion dollars and a windfall?
I read her words again. “I’d like you to share a billion dollars for me.”
What could she possibly mean by that?
What would I ever do with a billion dollars?