Chicken Little: The Inside Story (A Jungian ... - Inner City Books

1
The Letter
I got back from the bank just as Rachel was pulling out. She rolled
down her window.
“Sunny hasn’t had her walk,” she called. “Oh, and there’s a special
delivery letter on your desk. Don’t know who it’s from, I didn’t
open it. Gotta fly!”
And she blew me a kiss, off to her class.
I waved and went in, instantly pleasured by familiar surroundings:
old sunglasses lined up on the radiator, elephant prints in the
hall; the scuffed mat and stack of slippers; antique chandelier, cut
glass door-knobs throwing rainbows; a view from the front door
straight through to the back garden.
I’ve lived here ten years and I’d only been gone half an hour, but
was I glad to be back.
Sunny pranced to meet me. She’s quite a large dog, about eight
years old. She looks like a wolf; she may be a cross between a Collie
and a German Shepherd. We don’t know anything about her for
sure. Rachel picked her out at the pound last year. Sunny barks a
lot when people come to the door, but she only bites strange workmen
in the garden, when they bend over.
I hung my coat up and went upstairs, mentally greeting the soldier
elephants in the window box.
My office was flooded with the afternoon light. A glance told
me everything was in order. I checked the fax, turned off the answering
machine and picked up the special delivery letter.
The handwriting on the envelope was unfamiliar. There was no
sender’s name or return address. The few pen strokes had been applied
with a flourish, slanting upward from left to right. An optimist,
I thought, or perhaps just somewhat inflated. On the back flap
were the initials A.B.
I weighed the envelope (it was light) and felt a curious sense of
excitement. I became somewhat heady, as if I were stoned.
Well now, I thought, what’s this? It’s almost twenty years since I
20