Wrong Mail

AN: I highly suggest you listen to the song ^ while reading. It makes the whole experience much better! Enjoy the short story!

"The mailman keeps on sending me the wrong mail," Helen muttered to herself. She read the name on the envelope: Teddy Smith. Once again Helen was standing at the door of her neighbour across the hallway. She rang the doorbell, expecting no one to answer as always; however, this time the door opened. Behind the door was a man who looks like he had just pulled an all-nighter. He had dark hair and striking green eyes. "Oh... I got the wrong mail. These are yours," She said holding out the stack of envelopes. He looked at her curiously, "Were you the one leaving my mail?" Helen nodded, "Yeah, everytime I try to give you your mail you seem to be unavailable." "Sorry about that," apologized as he took the letters and closed the door.

Helen went back inside her apartment. Helen graduated from college a few years ago and now worked as a kindergarten teacher. She was hard working and didn't really go out often. The next day, Helen was walking to work. The school was a few houses down the street, so she didn't have a problem with walking. As she crossed a concrete bridge that was over a small river, she noticed the side of a building which was a large graffiti piece of the bottom of the ocean filled with many colourful sea creatures. Helen admired the work from a distance.

The school day was the same as usual. She had to run the after school program which took longer than she expected. Just as soon as the last student left, Helen quickly packed her things and began to rush home.

On her way back to her apartment, she saw a man on the bridge. He was painting on one of the walls. The picture was of a simple multicoloured flower blooming. Helen admired the artwork, but she didn't know if she was supposed to report him for vandalism. She noticed the man was slowly getting awfully close to the edge of the bridge. She stopped walking and debated whether or not she should warn him. If she said something: the man could move away from the edge, but there was a risk of surprising him causing him to fall off anyways. However, she decided to warn him; but just as she was about to yell the man slipped and was hanging by the railing. Helen panicked; she ran to the bridge where the man was holding onto the bar. As she got closer, she recognized him as her neighbour she met earlier that day. Helen reached forward to save him but it was too late. The man's grip loosened and sent him falling towards the river. His body splashed into the water below.

Helen was in shock; she didn't know what to do. "Should I call 911? Would I be suspected for murder?" She thought to herself. Luckily, she spotted the man swimming to the edge of the river. Without thinking, she ran down the stairs to get to the walkway by the river.

"Hey, are you okay?" Helen yelled to the man pulling himself out of the water. She tried to remember his name, the one she read on the envelopes addressed to him: Teddy Smith? "Yeah," He responded groggily. "You're bleeding!" She exclaimed noticing the blood on his shoulder. She figured he cut his shoulder on the rocks at the bottom of the river. "Come with me. We have to get you patched up before you get sick or get an infection," Helen demanded. "Okay..." He hesitantly complied.

Together they quickly walked back to the apartment building. When they got there, Helen lead him to her apartment. She sat him down on her sofa and grabbed her first aid kit. She patched him up fairly quickly and gave him a towel to keep warm.

"How do you know first-aid?" He asked. "I work at a kindergarten, you'd be surprised how many accidents happen there," She responded, "What were you doing on the bridge?" "Painting...?" He hesitantly replied. She narrowed her eyes, "You were vandalizing, That's illegal you know." "Please don't call the cops," He pleaded. "If you knew it was wrong then why did you do it?" She curiously asked. "Because I love to paint and make art. Why else?" He responded. "Are you like an artist or something?" Helen questioned. "Yeah, well sort of," He responded. "What do you mean?" She asked. "Well, I haven't sold any of my works yet. So I'm kind of struggling," He answered. "Then get a part-time job," She suggested. "I don't want to do anything I don't have a passion for," He said.