Jacob M. Appel


If you are reading this note, I am most likely dead and you are the new tenant or tenants at #172B Meriwether Terrace. Under the circumstances, I’m sure you’ll forgive me for taking the liberty of sharing some historical information about your future home, which was my former home, and before that belonged to a deranged postal worker who went to the loony bin for hoarding undelivered mail. After all, if you’ve found this letter, it means you were poking around beneath the shelving paper, probably searching for a suicide note or dirty pictures or whatever. Well, you can stop searching—for a suicide note, that is. Because I didn’t leave one. Unless you count this memo, which you shouldn’t, since I’m writing this for your benefit, not for mine. To give you context. A person only writes a suicide note if she has someone she wants to leave a message for—someone she knows personally, I mean— and the sad reality is that I don’t. Not even a cat. Of course, I do realize that I’m not the first fifty-eight year old woman to drink a gallon of bleach on account of a man, although I do think I’ve had better reasons that most. But like I said, this isn’t about me...

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"Some Helpful Background for the Incoming Tenant" was originally published at Booth.