The envelope

Mail

     I comb my short black hair in the mirror. After I'm done combing my hair I look at the clumps of hair stuck on the teeth of the comb. I assume I'm just not gentle enough while combing my hair. As I rip the clumps of hair out of the teeth of the comb, I hear mom screech my name. I stomp down the stairs and find her standing with her arms crossed. My mom gives me a look like I was guilty for something serious. a give her an exasperated look and ask her " What do you want?". She replies "Go get the mail". I didn't want to give her the middle finger. I wanted to give her all the fingers, across the face. She yelled my name, looked at me like I just murdered someone, all for asking to get the mail. I didn't want to make fuss about so I just slipped on my converse, and walked out the door. My footsteps crunch in the snow as I go up to the mailbox with a numerous amount stickers stuck to the mailbox. I opened the door on the mailbox  and grab a handful of the mail. I check one by one each envelope and magazine. Junk, junk, junk, junk, junk, junk,junk, Kris, junk, Dad- wait what?

  I stare at the envelope that said my name and address. No one ever sends me mail.I decide to open it instead of checking it at home. My parents would force me to give them the mail to see if it said anything sketchy on it. I aggressively tear open the envelope and see a letter. It reads:
   Bring an umbrella on Monday.
     That the most random letter I ever gotten. Well, I never got mail before so that doesn't count. I scoff reading it. Maybe a kid wrote it. I walk back to the front door but I pause. A random kid couldn't have written this. I think to myself. The handwriting looks like an adult's handwriting, and how can a little kid know my address. The thought of a stranger knowing my address terrifies me. I suddenly have the feeling of one pair of eyes staring at me. I look behind me before walking back into the house. It doesn't matter anyway, as long the letters don't get creepy and weird. I close the door behind me while repeating the words on the letter over and over again. I leave the letters for my dad on the table in the kitchen. I shove the magazines inside my black jacket. My dad stops me from walking up the stairs to my room. "What's in your jacket?" He asks in a stern voice. He stares at me with his serious brown eyes I inherited. I sigh, honestly tired of him being so overprotective. I take out the magazines and reply "It's just magazines". He peers his eyes and me and strokes his ginger, curly beard. "Fine, as long there isn't anything inappropriate in it".

  I don't respond or look at him in the eye, and climb up the stairs. I walk into my room and use a Melanie Martinez poster to cover the gap where the door used to be. I see Dorito's tail peek out of the covers. A small smile spreads across my face. I pull his tail to let him know I can clearly see him. He lets out a small squeak and hides further into the cover where he can't be seen. My thoughts drift back to the words on the letter. Bring an umbrella on Monday. My gaze drifts to the umbrella In the corner of my room. Maybe... the person who wrote the letter is right about the weather on Monday.