The Keys to freedom

Letters of the past

Larry stepped out of his old, beat-up truck and spat into the grass before he strolled over, with his stained button-up shirt, and his greasy baseball cap hiding his thinning hair.

"Well, well, if it ain't my least favorite tenants," he sneered.

"Well, well, if it ain't our smelly landlord," Oz shot back, earning a nudge from James.

Larry wiped his mouth and let out a burp. "You got my money?"

"No," Oz replied with mock sweetness, "but I've got a breath mint with your name written all over it."

Larry's face soured. "What do you mean, no?"

James stepped forward. "We've got most of it, we just need another day or so for the rest."

Larry shook his head, his voice growing louder. "No, no, no. I told you last month when you were late, no more free passes. I've been more than generous with you brats, but I want my money, or you're out!"

"Our dad should be back any day now. He'll cover the rest!" James insisted.

"Not good enough. I want it now!"

"Oz, go check the mail," James said abruptly, hoping their dad had sent some money for them or at least a note update like he usually does when he is gone for longer than expected.

"Why? You check it every day, and there's never anything."

"Just do it."

With a roll of her eyes, she relented and trudged to the mailbox the gravel crunching under her shoes as she listened to James try to reason with Larry behind her. She swung open the rusted metal lid, expecting the usual emptiness or overdue notices. But instead, two envelopes sat inside.

One was plain, and unmarked, without a stamp or return address. The paper was stiff and oddly weighty in her hand. Her brows drew together in suspicion as she tore it open.

Inside was a folded note and a thick wad of cash.

The note read:

"You belong wherever you want to belong."

Those familiar words tugged at her heart. She unfolded the cash—two hundred-dollar bills. Oz stared at the money, her jaw clenched in indecision. Part of her wanted to toss it, to crumple it in defiance. Another part—quieter, wearier—knew what two hundred dollars could mean right now.

With a heavy sigh, she slid the note and the second thin unopened envelope into her pocket, then turned and made her way back toward James,

"Where's the four hundered?" she asked him.

"In my pocket. Why?"

"Let me see it." She said holding her hand out in front of him.

Still confused, James pulled the money out and handed it to her. Oz took the wad, added the two hundred from her own pocket, folded the wad together, and shoved it toward Larry.

"Here's your money Asshat. Now leave."

Larry snatched the money from her hand and began counting it slowly, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Well, damn," he muttered. "Looks like you brats got lucky this time. But don't get too comfortable—the rent's going up. Starting next month, it's $750."

"Seven-fifty?!" Oz exploded, her voice rising. "You can't do that—we signed a lease for six hundred a month!"

"Your daddy's the one who signed that lease," Larry said, stuffing the cash into his pocket. "And since he's not around—and I'm guessing you don't want anyone else finding that out—the rent's now seven-fifty."