Steven the Mailman was a snail. He was the reason for how slow things took to get places. He was the reason behind stamps, because without them, he would have to pay the postage-- an he's really been doing a service.
He begins at the end of the street, following his own dried path of slime from the days before. On a good day, he got to all of the houses before sundown. On a bad day, some of his deliveries get stuck in his slime. He found out the hard way that it was better to not deliver it than to deliver a slimy envelope.
By midday he is sulking up the sidewalk, his tan hat and khaki shell near my own house. I watch carefully for him to drop my things, or if he'll run into the salty dogs in my neighbor's yard. Mailmen hated dogs, around here.
My mail arrives, but that's only half of the fun. I step to the box while he delivers it, and we chat.
"How's the weather, Steve?"
"Oh, it's fine, Brandy. Hope it stays that way tomorrow."
"Oh, I do too, it's a shame about the Johnsons, isn't it?"
"Sure is, I thought that they'd live there forever, foreclosure is a pain."
"Well, thanks for my mail, and keep an eye out for those packages that seem so slow to get here."
"Will do, Brandy. See ya tomorrow."
And he slithers on, sluggish at times. Other times he is a speedy devil, traveling at the speed of a geriatric salamander. Today there's a letter from the PCH. Here's to hoping I won!
---------
Steven arrives home, bag in tow, and slime nearly dried up from the sun and sand estuaries. Practically in his plastic-covered recliner, he sits bag, bag at hand, and begins to dump out the remains.
"Missus James' letter from the Adoption Services... Oh goodness me. Let's take a peek."
A few letters later, a pile of opened ones accruing to his left, he opens yet another.
"Tyler Andrews, you've been writing some steamy stuff to Elizabeth Rayes. ... You know that the missus doesn't deserve this... Perhaps this one got lost."
He tosses that letter in the bin, opening the final 9x11 envelope.
"Little Frankie, getting a letter from Yarvle University? Oh... Well perhaps I'll wait to give him this one when he gets into another college."
As the rush of opening another person's mail subsides, he begins to sag in his chair like a drying raisin. A bit of a dip in mood overwhelming him. He decides to busy himself by re-sealing the envelopes with his own slime.
"Good as new."
Before stuffing them back into his back for another day, he notices a rogue letter, small, at the bottom of the bag. With anticipation, he reaches for it with whatever appendage he could manage, and read the addressee: "Steven Snail."
"Hmm... Where did this one come from...?" There was no return address.
And he reads: "Dear Steven, we of the community would like to thank you for your services. Each day you brighten our mood and lift our hearts. No matter how long it takes, we always get our mail. Mister Putter would like to personally thank you for the way you manage to get him his mail just before his coffee so he can read it at an appropriate time. Alex Incine is delighted that you were able to attend this luncheon celebrating the new house down the road. And me, Rita Skrum, would like to ask, on behalf of the whole neighborhood, for you to stop reading our mail. With Love, Your patrons."
"Hm..."
He sets this letter aside for another day. Perhaps it too got lost in the post.
No comments:
Post a Comment