On a magic carpet

Dear Mago,
I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing the moment I learned of your death. I was in the basement of an apartment building on St. Eriksgatan in Stockholm, helping a friend to move furniture into her new storage space. I had slipped an unopened letter from my sister into my pocket earlier that day, awaiting a moment when I could reflect on its content. A letter from my sister was rare, always well-written and to be cherished, at the right moment.
Alone for a moment, resting on a rolled rug, I recalled the letter. I pulled it out of my pocket, held it up to the light for a second, and decided that the moment had come. I hoped to have just enough time, to rip open the envelope and read:

Dear Sue Anne,
I just wanted to let you know that Mago passed a couple of weeks ago…”

I managed to read the entire letter, to learn about your funeral, who was there, some of the many memories of you that had been shared there, just before the automatic timer extinguished the basement lights.

When my friends returned some minutes later, they found me in the dark, sitting on that rug roll, devastated, feeling deprived of my own history. They have probably forgotten the incident - I was there to help them move - but I haven't. Tonight I plan to unroll that magic carpet.

… to be continued in the morning when my dream is refreshed.