A Letter to My Sister
November 15, 2007
molly looked out her window and sighed at the rain. a system of puddles were collecting and interacting in the grass of her front yard. tomorrow would be muddy. molly collected stamps. stamps of all shapes and sizes, all colors and textures. stamps from all over the world. molly liked stamps because stamps got things to people. people thousands of miles away could spill their ideas onto paper, and send them right to someone elses brain by simply trading a few coins for a sticky, pretty, square little piece of paper. the rain wasn't slowing down and molly sighed again, shifting the weight of her head from her left to her right palm. the mail man wasn't late yet, technically, but it sure as heck felt like he was. maynard was in the kitchen, almost directly behind molly, making tea. he had been walking on eggshells all morning. molly was always in a good mood when she had new stamps, and always in a bad mood when she was waiting for them. maynard built boats for a living. today it was raining and boat building didn't go well when it was raining. so today, maynard was making tea and walking on eggshells. it was smart to walk on eggshells when molly was waiting for stamps. a big white panel with some blue and red designs and an allusion to an eagle appeared near the driveway. mollys head was off her hand and her face was pressed close to the window, casting little condensation ghosts around her nostrils. "he's here i think" she whispered. more ghosts around her mouth now. the big white panel was now clearly a mail truck. between the pelting rain and the little rivers that were scattered and evolving all over the window she could see the mailman approaching her house. she held her breath. the little ghosts that had grown on the window shrank and disappeared, their very existence pinched at the source. maynard knew not to stop walking on eggshells yet. he sat down at the bar in the kitchen and sipped tea, tense, but not about to show it. the mailman was about twenty feet from the door when molly swung it open and took two soggy steps out into the grass. "only bills and junk today molly", he said apologetically - as if somehow everything that failed to come through the mail was his personal responsibility. molly hadn't allowed herself to begin smiling yet and she didn't regret that decision now. she wasn't holding her breath anymore. "thanks, greg" she said, crestfallen. "maybe tomorrow molly, maybe tomorrow" greg said - trying his best to sound reassuring. molly walked back inside. the two bounds she took out the door had become four mopes on the way back. mollys feet were wet and she didn't even bother to wipe them on her doormat. maynard glanced at her face, and decided not to smile. eggshells seemed like the order of the day. "they didn't come" said molly. "i'm sorry honey" said maynard between sips of hot tea. "maybe tomorrow". "that's what greg said" allowed molly. she looked pretty soggy. she felt a lot soggier. normally molly got about 70 stamps every two weeks. this last week, she was only getting about 35, and she knew it. that was bad enough, but they had never come. that's why maynard was walking on eggshells and sipping tea. mollys stamps were over a week late. "my stamps are almost two weeks late!" she said to maynard, looking sad. "i know" he said, "but your supposed to get more tomorrow, maybe they'll come with those". "i hope so", molly said. she moved back in front of her window and sat down, put her head back in her hands, and stared out into the rain. it was going to be muddy tomorrow. "i hope so".
Tags for this piece: fiction story stamps