Sunlight of the Spirt

I tried to make sense of his note, but it was just gibberish. He had taken them books with him, so I knew he wasn’t going off to kill himself. When I checked with the bank, they said he’d cleaned out his college fund on Friday. That bothered me, but not for the reasons you’d think. There wasn’t all that much in it, for one. And the money was his, set aside for his future.

Other than that, I had nothing to go on. I didn’t even know the names of his friends. I never stopped thinking about him, but there wasn’t nothing I could do.

One October day about a year after he left, I got a postcard. On the front was a cactus. He’d wrote a single sentence in ballpoint pen, all capital letters:  SUNLIGHT OF THE SPIRT. That boy never could spell.

The postmark read: Landers, California.


What Pegman Saw