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All that was changed and added was a name, his name. He crumpled the note then jammed it in his pocket. He closed the mailbox then turned and walked forwards. The initial steps were difficult, almost mechanical. The note in his pocket had more weight than it should have as if gravity was pulling on it and him with more force. As Michael continued walking, a flood of memories rushed back to him. His best friend, his job, and then his wife. Then his child, and the joy of seeing her face full of innocence and joy. A face free of care. It all seemed so surreal. He wasn’t an alcoholic. He even went to church on most Sundays, and today would have followed the same pattern. Everything changed and he realized it didn’t matter anymore. God had shown his true colour. He remembered his wife’s last words before she left him. That part of his memory wasn’t foggy. ‘James can give Rebecca a better life than you could ever imagine’. As she had spoken before that, Michael had been watching Rebecca. Therewere six people sitting at easels, all looking back towards theentranceway, staring at me as if I was an intruder into a sacred sanctum.I could not help but feel my skin flush and myself blushing at theattention. I am not the most confident of individuals and to have peoplestare at me was so very off putting.Then a voice said, "Do not just stand there, dripping water onto myfloor, come in and join the class!"Turning towards the voice, I saw the Instructor, the shop owner. I couldnot help myself, as I stared. She was a huge woman, ebony skinned withflowing white hair.She stood at least Six foot six inches tall, not counting the High heeledstilettos encasing her feet. Dressed in a dark leather outfit, she lookedmore like a fashion picture one would see in a magazine than an artinstructor."Well, are you going to just stand there?" she asked.Mumbling an apology, I quickly scurried over to the final open easel andchair, sitting down."Now that everyone is here," she looked at me.
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