Dear Postal Carrier,
I’m writing you this letter at work, amidst the buzzing and clanging of the cafeteria. The outside wall is floor to ceiling window and it’s unusually bright out. I’ve been squinting all morning. In line, I ate as much of a container of poutine before the cashier discovered that I didn’t have enough money in my bank account to pay for it. She made me leave it with her. I’m avoiding her glare, seated here with a cup of water, writing frantically. The staff turnover had better happen soon, it’s getting difficult to go on with Olga like this (and yes - her name, according to her nametag, really is Olga), I mean, how long can a middle aged lady work ringing in sloppy, tasteless cafeteria food to people who can’t even see her, and all for minimum wage?
Oh well. Stare on, Olga. At least I’m not starving anymore.
I saw James today. He was exiting his car as I entered mine to go to work.
“Hi, how are you?”
“Ok.”
“Yeah?”
He nods.
Three seconds of silence, then he speaks: “The mailman,” he says. Mailman - so you’re a man! I look around, wonder what’s coming next. I half expected you to be right behind me, grinning. You would exchange a glance between you and James before bursting into a maniacal laughter at my expense. But when I turn, I see blustering snow, trees bending in the wind and a rabbit run into my window well.
“Pardon?”
“The mailman. Weird thing. I got a letter from the mailman today,” he nods toward his house, at the black mailbox hung to the right of his door.
“What?”
“Yeah. He left a card for me.”
“A card?” Spit it out old man, spit it out.
“Yep,” he turns and starts to walk away.
“James, what do you mean?”
He turns toward me and appears lost.
“A Get-Well-Soon card, huh … I don’t know,” his shoulders raise and lower, he turns and walks to his front door.
I open the door, slide into my car and sit. Thankfully, it’s cold outside and I can hide my shock under the disguise of warming up the car.
So, you sent James a card? I guess that means that you’re reading my letters. Unless it’s a strange coincidence, you heard it from another neighbour. Or maybe you know him personally. What did you SAY in the letter?
I’m in shock myself. At work everyone is blurred, scurrying around me, dribbling nouns and adjectives that don’t appear to string together. I feel like I need to talk to you about this, find out why you did it. But I don’t want to and, don’t worry, I’m not going to.
You really should have seen him.
Signed,
Me at 8493 Wellington Road South.
