Headlines & Head Wounds

Letter

Rhiannon swung the mailbox closed and locked it with a deft twist of the key. As she headed for the stairs, she shuffled the letters through her fingers, checking the return addresses of each, hoping for a vaguely interesting update of some sort. Various bills: utility bills, phone bills, internet bills, even a scam bill for a magazine that Rhiannon had never heard of and had no intention of subscribing to. A couple of advertisements- coupons for nearby fast food restaurants and free magazine samples. Several hand-addressed letters: one from Bellie Thatcher, probably a thank-you card for her birthday gift, one with an unfamiliar return address from around Seattle, and another from Theodore's sister Bethany. Rhiannon was always glad to receive letters- interesting mail came so infrequently that family correspondence was a warm relief. She'd long felt that the comfortable, meaningful communication provided by letters had been dimmed by technological developments, that the intimacy of long-distance conversation had been partially lost. Then again, letter-writing itself had replaced simple conversation, which set Rhiannon wondering as to what technology might replace texting.

Taking care to hold the door for her nextdoor neighbor Irene, who was just returning from crochet club, she muttered a vague greeting and moved off down the hall with a quick stride. She might snort at the bills, but she was excited to see Bellie's thank-you card. And Bethany's letter, whatever it was, looked important. Bethany was more given to phone calls than letters. She must have something to tell them.

Standing outside her apartment door, rummaging through her pockets and cursing (much to Irene's disapproval) at the thick sheaf of mail she gripped tightly in her hand, Rhiannon slumped against the wall. She'd forgotten her key- again. It was still a source of amazement to her that she could clearly remember her mailbox key, but somehow neglect her apartment key in its usual jar. One of these days she was going to go down to get the mail while Theodore wasn't home; one of these days she was going to get herself locked out.

Today was not that day.

"Theodore?" Rhiannon called, slapping her fist against the door in a crude imitation of a knock. "Please let me in." She didn't speak again- she knew well enough that Theodore had heard her, and she didn't want to annoy him needlessly.

It took about thirty seconds for him to open the door. He'd clearly been in the middle of something- in the middle of shaving, Rhiannon realized with embarrassment, as he had a razor clutched in his other hand.

He gave an impish grin. "Maybe we should change the locks."

"Why's that?" Rhiannon said irritably.

"Match the apartment key to the mailbox key?" Theodore suggested. When Rhiannon didn't respond, he gave a good-humored laugh. "Come on in, come- how did we get that much mail?"

Rhiannon just shrugged. "Ads?" she ventured. "And some bills. And some letters." Without waiting for Theodore to finish his invitation, she stepped inside and tossed the mail on a nearby table. "I'll open the bills while you finish-" she waved her hand awkwardly in Theodore's direction- "while you finish shaving."

"Roger that," Theodore replied with a mock salute. Then, with an entirely overdramatic grin, he strode off down the hall to attend to his half-stubbled chin.

Rhiannon had never really learned how to properly open mail. Aunt Ria had always done it so perfectly, slitting her finger into the side of the envelope and coaxing the paper to separate from itself, the flap peeling seamlessly away. Rhiannon had always ended up with a paper cut or a torn letter when she tried to open envelopes. Eventually she'd just resorted to a trick she'd seen in an old TV show- a bizarre quirk intended to make a character more interesting, in an otherwise lackluster episode. At any rate, it worked. Rhiannon seized the nearest bill and tore the envelope down the short end. Then she cupped it open with her hand and shook it until the papers slid out.