The Postal Worker

           Peter is a man with a secret. To all appearances he is an average man. Average height, average weight, average hair, average family. He wakes up in his average home and drives his average car to his average job at the post office. He delivers mail to average neighborhoods to other average people living out their average lives.

           But Peter is far from average. If he wanted, he could have an above average life. For Peter is the first person to rediscover magic. Not the sleight of hand or flashy stage magic. Real, honest, how did he do that magic. He uses it almost subconsciously throughout the day.

           Packing his truck for the day he mindlessly makes objects lighter, so he doesn’t work as hard to lift them. But the magic scares him. Once he realizes he is using it the magic stops like squeezing your eyes shut to block out the light. This usually ends up with a pile of letters, catalogs and flyers sprawled across warehouse floor that he hurriedly must sort through, not realizing his magic assists him organizing.

           This back and forth of using magic and not using magic gives him the appearance of a somewhat clumsy person. Often during the week, he will be carrying a box of mail to his truck and someone will comment on how heavy the box must be. Which results in Peter realizing he is using magic and dropping the box because it is too heavy for him to lift.

           Co-workers will rush over and help him pick the mess back up and this is where the second aspect of his magic kicks in because it does not matter what order the mail goes in, it’s always in the right order when he delivers it.

           Tuesday began like any other day for Peter. He woke up in his average home. Ate his average breakfast. Kiss his average wife and average child goodbye. Got into his average car and drove to his average job.

           On his way to his average job Peter noticed things were different though. The sun was a little brighter. The radio played a little bit happier tune. He even smiled a little bit when his favorite song came on. No one cut him off in traffic. And the cashier at his average coffee shop even drew a smiley face on his cup while wishing him a great day. Maybe things would turn up for him, he even began to think to himself. Maybe he even dared to hope he could be, dare he say it, better than average.

           Peter loaded his truck with a little bit more of a swagger. And while he was careful to not overdo it, he did manage to lift those boxes of letters and not be startled into dropping them when someone commented about how heavy they looked. “Guess I just ate my Wheaties this morning.” He would reply.

           Peter went about his rounds delivering letter after letter but with more positive vibe about him. Witnesses later would say he almost had a glow about him. Back at the post office while clearing out his postal truck he even managed to have a nice cheery chat with his boss who wanted to promote Peter to Fleet Supervisor in charge of all the other postal drivers.

           One might say it was a very, very good day. Almost too good. In fact, it seemed like the happier Peter felt the gloomier others around him seemed to be. His boss, who only was too happy to give him a promotion, nearly ignored him the following day. His wife, who only worked part time, so she prepared dinner, seemed more and more distant.

           The sun even seemed to dim around him. The weather grew darker and darker. After a few weeks it was even storming every day. After a month of storms, he began arguing with everyone. First his co-workers who wouldn’t get out of his way. Then his boss, the incompetent who failed to see Peter’s potential. And finally, his wife. Why couldn’t they all just be happy for him?

           He had gotten a handle on his seemingly magical abilities to the point that it no longer startled him to use them. Why did they all have to stare? Why couldn’t they accept him for his uniqueness? Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?

           The worse the arguments became the more Peter lashed out with his abilities. At first, he was apologetic when he would shove someone away or lift them a few inches off the ground and drop them. But a few inches became a few feet. A few feet became a few yards. He even broke his boss’s legs by dropping him from a height about twice as tall as the post office.

           Then he lashed out at his kid. Shoving him to the ground hard enough to bounce off the floor a bit. When his wife ran over to pick their son up and check him, Peter shoved her back also. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. Peter’s anger slowly faded. Replaced by sadness and regret but he said nothing. He just stood there with his fists at his side.

           Nothing good ever came from magic, he thought. Nothing good ever came from me. And he walked out the door.

           After he left his average wife consoled their average child. She packed up their average clothes into an average suitcase. Got into her average car to drive to her average parents’ house the next town over. As she backed out of the driveway she looked up and could just barely make out Peter hovering in the sky. Far higher than she knew was safe if he lost control. She put the car in drive and did not look back.

           Peter watched her leave. The storm raged around him as he floated there. He knew it was his fault. That things had been going wrong for far too long. He took away the sun. He was going to give it back.

           Peter’s last thought as he fell was how much better he should have been, could have been. If he had just been satisfied with his average life. His last vision was the tiniest pinhole of sunlight piercing the storm that had begun to abate.