A Postcard's Home

Cara loved to watch the snow as it dripped from it’s perfect icy crystallization to cascading water trails throughout the park. She proceeded carefully as a new line of water reached across the sidewalk and onto the paved road that had been cleared out last week when the snow storm first hit. It was a weirdly timed storm, given that spring was bursting around the corner, but probably the last of it’s kind until next winter. 

She had watched the snow when it first fell from her own apartment down the road. She had made her way to work all week, pressing through heavy snow boots, and passing by kids warring sledding paths into the hills. She had seen countless snowmen, planned out their backstories, and even decided which would seem to get along the best if they were to meet. But now, on this Saturday evening she was wishing those snowmen goodbye, welcoming the warmth of spring's touch. 

Cara made this walk around the park often, she felt it important to get a breath of fresh air, and to appreciate the small town she lived in. She worked long hours at the post office, and the time outside was therapeutic. Every so often she would pass by a snowbank that had been made to clear the sidewalk, at this round a small pop of color caught her eye around the top. She stepped forward and turned her head. That certainly did not belong in this bank of ice. It appeared to be paper, but not so thin, that it had broken under the snowy pressure, she moved even closer and gently pulled it from the bank. 

She shook the item slowly, to get off the excess snow, and saw that it was a postcard from Paris, France. She flipped it quickly to find the details of whom it belonged to, but the writing had been ruined in the melting water. There was only blurred ink, two stamps, and it was marked as if it had been delivered. She took a large look at the park around her, but no one else seemed to be troubled or searching for anything. Couples moved along laughing, some walked their dogs, and children chased each other, falling from time to time in the little snow that was left. 

“Well who is looking out for you?” She breathed, flipping the card back and forth once more. In her bag she carefully removed a journal and placed the post card inside, she returned the journal to her bag and turned around, deciding not to complete her normal walk, but to instead check in on the Post Office on her day off. 

The bells clattered as she walked into the small store, and her coworker John glanced up from where he sat on a small stoll behind the counter. His brow furrowed as he took in Cara, who was dripping from her boots onto the front mat. She stomped her feet and walked past a small aisle of birthday cards to face John. 

“What is this Cara? You have off today.” He wasn’t angry so much as he was surprised to see her. Cara was there every other day of the week, the both of them saw every letter that went in and out of the town. John had been a friend of her fathers, and he had offered her a job at the shop when her father passed away during her early education. She hadn’t left since. 

“I know, I just ran into this letter at the park. I was hoping maybe you would recognize it.” As she spoke she carefully unzipped her bag and pulled out her journal. She opened to the where she had pressed in the postcard and delicately handed it to John. He squinted his eyes at the watered down text, but he seemed to recount something as he turned the card to the front. 

“I do remember this one, it was going to a house in the Reserve. I cannot, unfortunately, recall more than that.” He handed the postcard back to Cara and she gently returned it to its place. “You know Cara, once the mailman takes these things they are no longer our responsibility.”Cara sighed, she knew it was not her responsibility, but she felt bad for the little guy. He had to find his home, he was all alone out there in the cold.

He turned back to the work he had been focused on at the front but continued, “Have you spent much time looking into the social groups at the library, like I recommended?”

 “I haven’t had the time.” She headed out before John could push her anymore. She was a hard worker and he gave her credit for that, but she hated when he tried to impose activities outside of work on her. He seemed to think despite all her time in this town, she had not found a proper place outside of work or propper relationships. She didn’t have the energy to fight him on it when she had something else to be looking out for though. 

Cara headed to the Reserve, it was a large neighborhood, and going door to door, though she considered it, would take some time. Instead, she opted to head for the area where all the mailboxes were stacked together. Her eyes scanned the boxes until she found what she was looking for, a small bulletin board in the center. She reached into her purse and grabbed her journal and a pen. Flipping to the back of the journal she found an untouched page and scribbled “Paris Postcard Found: Please contact 555-431-9822” in big bold letters. She bent the paper along the edge carefully then slowly tore the page from the book, hanging it on the side of the bulletin among ads for babysitters and other social events. 

After she was satisfied with her sign, Cara headed to the park and finished her walk. She wrote some notes on the way and sketched out a few children that passed her by. She whispered goodbye to a snowman who had merely become a scarf sitting on the ground, and she sang hello to a bluebird that could finally search the ground for a snack. By the time she returned home, she checked her phone, disappointed to see that no one had called for the postcard. 

Three more days passed by, and Cara had returned to work. The snow was gone, except the small piles that had been stacked to clear the road. She was on her way home, when she received a call on her cell phone. 

“Hello?” She didn’t think much of a greeting was necessary when the caller was unknown. 

“Hi, my dear, this is Kassandra. I live in the Reserve and I saw your poster about the post card you had found.”

“Yes, I found it in the snow at the park, I believe it was supposed to be delivered to the Reserve. Were you expecting one?”

“Yes, my granddaughter is in Paris currently, and she sent one to me with a photo of the eiffel tower. I got worried that it had been lost, but then I saw your sign. I live in unit 423.”

“I will bring it by now, I was just on my way home from work.”

“Thank you dear, I will see you soon.” 

Cara was beaming as she hung up the phone. She was in shock that her sign had actually worked, and she could reunite the postcard with its proper home. She took off on a fast pace to the Reserve, and quickly found the unit the women had mentioned. She knocked carefully on the door, and stepped back as Kassandra opened it a few moments after. She began to reach for the post card when Kassandra turned her back on Cara and walked farther into her house. 

“Come on dear, I just put on some tea.”

Cara paused, journal in hand, and glanced around the neighborhood. She had expected a quick return, but she wasn’t going to stop when she had come so far. She walked back and followed Kassandra’s path to a small kitchen. The fridge was covered in post cards from other areas, and two tea cups were set on the table. 

“I have the card here,” Cara started as she pulled her journal out once more. As Kassandra reached out with a cup of tea, Cara was forced to place the journal on the table, and delicately grasp the small piece of china. 

“It’s jasmine.” Kassandra had a crooked smile, and a worn wrinkled face, but a comforting deminere. Cara felt it’s what a grandmother was meant to feel like, though, she had never had one herself. Her father had been the only family she really had, and now there was just John. She carefully sipped the tea, so as to not be rude to Kassandra. She knew from John, a certain level of respect was expected. “Have you been to Paris?” Kassandra inquired. 

Cara shook her head, she had never left the small town. Kassandra frowned and reached for her journal. Cara had to hold herself back as the postcard flew out and onto the table between them. Kassandra picked up the card slowly and found it a place on the fridge amongst the others. It seemed right at home with the array of travel cards, and Cara felt a sense of satisfaction. Kassandra gently touched another card that seemed to be from London and smiled, before turning back to Cara. “Have you been to London?”

Cara shook her head again, and sipped a little faster on her tea. “I went to London once,” Cara glanced up, surprised at the forwardness of this woman. She went on to tell Cara about the time she had fallen in love with a man in London. How he had shown her the sights of his city and how they stayed pen-pals for years. At first Cara had been annoyed that this whole thing had gone far beyond her comfort zone, but now she found herself lost in the story of the crazy life Kassandra had led. 

“Can I see what else you have here?” She motioned to the Journal, and Cara hesitated. She felt that Kassandra had opened up, and thus she had a responsibility to now as well. She also was not one to flaunt her work. She shyly pushed the journal towards Kassandra. 

“But, my darling, that is beautiful,” She raved as she went through each page carefully. She was local to the area as well, and she had never found such gorgeous local artwork. She insisted that Cara come to her local gallery where a group met every Wednesday night. 

“I don’t know, I’m not the most...out there person.”

“Look at what you’ve done this week. Just to reunite an old woman and a postcard, where is that spirit now, for yourself?” 

Cara finished her tea and she placed it on the table. She frowned and looked back towards the fridge where the postcard had found its home. She had no hesitation, because she felt it was right to reunite that card with its recipient. That was its purpose. She glanced back to her journal and the work she had developed, these years, by herself. Those drawings probably longed to be seen in the same way that postcard longed to be home. She nodded at Kassandra, she would come to the gallery. 

The walk home was familiar. The birds sang, she started to see buds peeking through bushes. Cara felt right in that she had found the little postcard it’s home. She also felt, excited, for once to be branching out herself in the small town she had always called home. Maybe there was a place for her as well.