The Extraordinary Letter

The Extraordinary Letter

Suzanne Marsh

The sun is shining, it is a great day to be alive! You begin your day with a bowl of cereal, juice and the ever wonderful cup of coffee. You know you have a writing deadline, the editor sent you an email two days ago, telling you to put some speed into writing the story. Great, you think, since you wanted to go to Lake Senora for the weekend. You whistle as you begin to plan your getaway or so you think. You get your fishing tackle out, check the line and net. You know you think better when you are alone and you need to decided how to explain your point of view to the editors. Your writers block seems to be taking over your life at least for the moment.

You have to wait for the mail to come. The email from the editor stated that he was sending you a letter and hoped it would help you. He reiterated that he needed the hard copy within the next five days. Of course this week the mail carrier whom you nicknamed “Crash” is late. You decide it would be worth your while to drag out the shovel before he gets there. The chances are good he will hit the mailbox again. You walk down to the mailbox hoping that the mail has arrived. Damn, nothing yet. You need that letter from the editor, so you have a better idea for the article than any you have had in the past two weeks.

Lunch time, the dogs are looking for their treats. You need to eat before resuming your packing for that fishing trip. The dogs will not leave you alone. One dog beats a tattoo on the floor with her tail, while the other one jumps up in your lap giving you kisses. Okay, you got the message. You go out to the garage, which is the only safe place for the treats and bring in biscuits and little sausages. Those little sausages are so tempting, you think perhaps you should try one. Then you look at your furry friends and the anticipation for their treats.

You know you can't procrastinate forever. Once again, you and the dogs make the trip down to the mailbox. Nothing! That damn “Crash” would late for his own funeral if he tried hard enough. Back to the house you and the dogs trod. Maybe a quick nap would refresh you. Sounds like a good idea. You and the dogs head for the hammock outside, at least you can hear “Crash” when he gets to the mailbox. That seems like a reasonably good idea, best one you have had in several days, that is next to your fishing trip this weekend. You wake up with a start. That crunching sound is almost sinister as you leap off the hammock, at full speed, followed by two dogs trailing in your wake. Oh no, you get to your flattened mailbox. Now you have to go borrow a crow bar from the neighbor so you can pry open the mailbox. “Crash” the mailman strikes again!

You knock on the neighbor's door. The two you go to his garage, he gives you the crow bar to use, then suggests that you do what he did, mount the mailbox on a railroad tie. You thank him and think the man is brilliant, you should have thought of that yourself. You decide the most prudent thing to do is to go purchase a new mailbox, and a railroad tie, hopefully “Crash” will do more damage to the mail truck than your mailbox. Dream on you think to yourself.

You take your flattened mailbox to the garage, then leave for the store. Damn that “Crash” that means to you can't leave for the lake until later tonight. By the time you pry open the mailbox, read the mail, put up the new mailbox and hope it stays in tact for at least a little while. It takes you a couple of hours to dig a hole for the railroad tie, then you have to mount the mailbox so it will stay put. Finally, that chore is done. You head back to the garage. You glare at the flattened mailbox, wondering if you will ever be able to gain access to the mail. The mail you really need from the editor.

You sigh. You put the flattened mailbox in a vise, crank it tight. You grab the crow bar with a flourish and begin to pry it open. The mailbox gives a little. You can see the mail, you just can not get to it. Somehow, “Crash” actually managed to get the mail in the middle of the mailbox, usually it is at the end. You begin to pry open more of the box, cursing “Crash” as you do so. It is getting later and later, you begin to think that the fishing trip was just a wishful thought. You finally get to the middle of the mailbox, you have to be careful not to rip any of the mail. You take your time...then you see three letters. One is to occupant, that doesn't count. The next one is from the editor. You skim through it. Good, you have two more weeks. Fishing hole here you come. Then you get to the final envelope. You glare at it. You are afraid to open it. It is from the IRS, that can't be good. You begin to think, did I pay my taxes last year? Did my accountant do something funny when he did my taxes. Your heart rate begins to beat faster, you take a calming breath. You have to open the damn thing and now. Your hands tremble as you fish around in your pocket for your pocket knife. Do you really want to open it? What if you are being audited? You think to yourself, I have all last years receipts so that is covered. You open the envelope with quaking hands. There it is the stimulus check that you should have received several months ago. Your day is complete.