Brother

Extraordinary day

Today, was ordinary.

I woke up, at 7:45, just like every other morning. I got up, used the wash room, then headed outside to let the ducks out. I had my normal routine of collecting eggs, filling food, and presenting meal worms. After visiting awhile, I went back inside to continue getting ready.

Once checking the weather, I pulled out a sweatshirt, my favorite jeans, and my go to, worn everyday, black converse. Slipping everything on, I head to the wash room to apply my ever so simple, thin layer of concealer, and some mascara. All while blaring my music throughout the empty house. Singing along, carrying out my daily schedule, the morning, same as the day before. When the time rolls around to 9:35, I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder, grab my keys from the table, say good bye to the animals, and go on my way.

After checking that I've locked to door, several times, I begin walking. In no more than 5 minutes I arrive at the school. I look both ways before crossing, and walk the curved walk to the doors of the school. With a heavy sigh, quick glance through the double layer doors, I pull, opening the door, taking a step, and stride into the building. As I'm waking, the bell beeps. That's right, not rings, but beeps. A long, 10second, monotone beep, signaling class is over. I head up the crowded stairs, knowing, today will be no different than those before.

Sure enough, every class is the same. Writing, taking notes, doing math, playing music, taking photos. Every class, ordinary. But that's okay. It keeps a pace, lets the clock tick on, with nothing to be anxious about. No anticipation for anything. I can simply enjoy the day. Going from class to class, no break. No distributions. Just another ordinary day.

3:18. The beeping of the bell signals a close to the day. Catering class had been great. We'd just finished making our coffee cake. It turned out amazing, which contributes to my great mood. The day was over. I could go home, enjoy the remaining piece of my cake, and binge some Netflix. The flood of students leaving stuffs the hallways, creating a constant bumping motion into everyone around one another. Soon I'm outside, walking home, in my own bubble of contempt-meant.

I begin my walk home, which always seems longer than the way of going to school. I have my music playing in my headphones. Thinking about an assortment of things, while I make my way up my drive way. I reach into the mail box, collecting the thick stack of mail, and walk up the 3 stairs to the porch. I then shift the mail so I can unlock the door and head inside. I set the mail in the table, set my bag down. And head to the washroom to clean the day off.

Once I've finished, I head back to the table and sorted all the mail. Throwing all the college letters into a box, to later be dealt with, all the bills into nice stacks to be payed on the weekend, and throwing away all the junk. But today, a letter struck me. There was a letter, with tones of postage stamps in the corner, no return address in the opposing corner, and in oddly satisfying capital letters, read my name. ELEANOR TOMLINSON, followed by a few lines of my address, also in the intricate capital lettering.

I took it with me to the couch, plopped down and looked at the envelope. All the postage stamped indicated the letter itself had traveled a great distance to arrive here. The question was, where had it come from, and who had sent it? The furthest distance I knew of anyone who would possibly write to me was some family members in Alabama, but seeing as though I was in Colorado, the number of postage stamps didn't add up to the travel.

I reached onto the coffee table to pick up the letter opener. I didn't want to risk damaging the envelope to this piece of mail. As I slid it along the envelope, it made a crisp sound, and after a few moments it was over. The envelope was bulged slightly, the effect of several pieces of paper folded on top of one another. After peering into the envelope, I reached in, taking out the papers, unfolding them, and settling
my eyes on the writing.

"Dear Eleanor Joy Tomlinson," it read. I knew of no one who would start off a letter using my full name. None the less I continued to read on.

"It is with great pleasure I finally write to you with no third party involved. I know this means nothing to you, or at least, I'm assuming it doesn't. The next few pages should help to clear everything up. I am aware you are dawning on your 18th birthday soon, only a few weeks if I'm correct. I figured now is as good a time as any for you to know the truth."

I read it over a great deal of times, not going any further. What does this mean? Third party? What third party? The truth...what's the lie? I then look at all the pages, counting them. 9 pages front and back. Scanning quickly at the words, they're fairly small print, and most definitely not double spaced.

Today is turning out to be anything but ordinary.