Driving Doctor Mayhem

[39] The Note

When I went to pull my blazer off later that night, a white envelope tumbled out of the pocket. Frowning, I bent down and examined it . It was perfectly white except for where 'Robin' was written on the back in Doc's frantic handwriting.

I ripped into it cautiously because it was difficult to know what to expect when it came to Doctor Mayhem. He liked it that way. I had to allow for the possibility that this could've been another one of his oddball experiments and soon I'd be holding a potted plant again or something.

I'm going to be so pissed if that happens.

It didn't. Instead, all the envelope contained was a perfectly normal piece of paper, a letter.

D̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶R̶o̶b̶i̶n̶,̶

Robin,

        1.) You ripped up my first letter. You're an asshole.

        2.) You've probably read that last statement in a sarcastic voice, since I know that you like to think that I "use sarcasm as a crutch" or whatever it was you said that Oprah said that one time.
        I'm not being sarcastic; that was a very well-written and warm and poignant letter and this one reads like a second grade book report in comparison because I'm never going to get those words exactly right again. Asshole.

        3.) If, at this point in the letter, you haven't puzzled together who your father is, I'm disowning you.

        3 1/2.) It's me. Hello.

        4.) I know you're going to Northwestern, and I know that it's an expensive school. I'd like for you to not fall flat on your face the moment you try to establish your independence. You can't be a PA forever, not because that isn't a noble profession, but because you are not good at it.
        So, here's to two doctors in the family. The enclosed check is made out for the amount we got for Collodi's knickknacks. This will not cover everything, (or even come close) but I have a feeling you'll put it to good use, nevertheless.

The check fell from the envelope and drifted down to the carpet. I flipped it over, my eyes widening.