Chapter Sixteen
In the weeks that followed, Peter Durant found himself residing, most discontentedly, in a small apartment on the other side of town, nearer to the city than he had ever lived before. With no claim check in sight from the insurance company, he was forced to use up much of his savings to purchase everything a person might need to start over.
Sparsely furnished, his apartment reminded him of one of his lonesome paintings in which a single clock rested on a mantle, accompanied by little more than a solo house plant or a nick-knack of some sort. Maybe a twig might be present, or a tidbit.
Dejected, he resorted to purchasing used books from the shop down the street and a few weeks after settling in, he even broke down and purchased a TV. By mid-April he’d begun a habit of watching Saturday Night Live on the weekends, but rarely turned the thing on for any other reason.
Then, on a Friday afternoon, after stopping to purchase a table top easel and a new set of paints and brushes, he was approached by a striking young woman who simply asked for his name, and then, after having given it to her, she handed him a folded piece of paper. She then abruptly walked away.
Confused, he too abruptly walked away.
Later, inside his apartment, he opened the curious letter and read it. This is what was written on the paper he’d received:
“Dearest Peter, by now you may have come to the realization that your negativity, like rays of sunlight, having been focused through a magnifying lens, has returned to you and burned you, divested you of everything you had, nearly costing you your life. You have much to offer this world, Peter, so please, for the love of God, stop being such an asshole and live.”
The letter bore no signature or closing.
That letter broke Peter’s heart.