One Rotation: Updated

The Letter that Started it All

The mailbox creaks as I open it for the fifth time today. A small cloud of rust falls from the old mailbox, and finds its home on the ground in the small pile of rust already accumulated. The small pile of rust has slowly been growing into a mound, and will reach mountain status if I continue to open the mailbox in search of my mail. I peer inside the warn mailbox and see nothing. Sighing, I close the door, and shudder as the metal rubs against the rotted wood. Another small dusting of rust is released, and I sing, looking down at my watch. It's 2:37, which means that the mailman is late. In the five years I have lived here, he has never been late before, so of course he chooses today to be God knows where. I walk back to my apartment and close the door, feeling defeated. I walk over to my table, and sit down with a huff, my knees creaking, and my hips cracking as I do so. I've always joked, saying that I have a body like a forty year old, even though I'm only 28. I move the NASA papers off one side, and my unopened letters and unread magazines to the other side and lay my head down.

I stay there for about ten minutes and relax, trying to calm myself and forget about the mail. My mind starts to drift, and I start to fall asleep. I wake with a start, and my head flies off the table and I look towards the window. The street is empty, with no mail car in sight. I look down at my watch, check the time again. It says 2:50. The mailman should have been here a good half hour ago. I had only been asleep for 15 minutes, but there is a chance that he came while I was asleep. I walk back outside, and down the driveway to the mailbox. I cringe again as the door squeals in protest, and look at the emptiness inside. I let out a breath of frustration, and close it again, seeing the rust fall in speckles towards the ground. I walk back up the driveway, and back inside. I kick off my shoes, and close the door behind me. I make my way back to the table, and sit down, defeated. I set my head back on the table, and drift off again, half sleeping, and half awake. Something wakes me, and I open my eyes, blinking at the discomfort of my dry contacts scratching against my eyelids. I lift my head up, as I hear the distinctive squeal of the mailman's breaks as he stops down the street.

I look through my window, and see the two doors down. He opens their mailbox, and places a few items inside. I sit there staring, waiting for him to get to my mailbox. He pulls up next door, and stops the car, the tires squealing as he pushes the breaks a little too aggressively. He places a few magazines inside, but doesn't continue on to my house. He gets out of the car, and makes his way around to the back, opening up the trunk. He disappears inside, and I groan. He returns a moment later, with an armful of packages. I will him to move faster, but he meticulously sits the packages down and scans each one, double checking the name and address. What feels like eternity later, he finishes scanning, and takes the packages in his arms. He walks up the drive to the door and rings the bell. When no one answers, he gives up, and leaves the packages on the porch. As he makes his way back to his car, I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants, and make my way back to the door. I shove my feet into my tennis shoes, forcing them on without having to bend down and untie them. I hear the mail car turn back on, and stand at the door eagrly. I watch out the window as his car stops next to my mailbox. He opens it, and puts a few envelopes in. He closes the door, and slowly drives off. I wait for him to turn the corner before I move, not wanting him to see me sprint to the mailbox like a mad woman. When he's out of sight, I fling open my door, and run out. I skid to a stop by my mailbox, my heels flying out of my hastily put on shoes, and open the door.

Inside the mailbox, there are four envelopes. Three are bills, and one is what I was hoping for. I pick the letter up gingerly, and flip it over. I see that the letter is sealed with the NASA stamp. I run my finger over the stamp, smiling at the fact that I represent NASA. The other envelopes have no importance to me today, so I leave them in the mailbox. I'll return for them once I break out of this dream I'm in. I close the mailbox door, not noticing it if squealed this time or not, and then I walk back into my apartment. I sit down at my table, my shoes still on, and look at the letter. I slide my fingernail under the lip, and open it. I take out the crisp letter, which is folded in three sections. I unfold it, and begin to read eagerly. It takes all the control I have to read it in its entirety, and not skip down to the bottom, where I hope the good news is.