March 19, 2007
Day 3 of the mail marathon began the same as Day 2 which was the same as Day 1. As the first rays of sunlight cast over the horizon I sat at the window looking to see if the mail truck was coming. Trina came down the stairs rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?” she asked. “It is 6:32 AM and the mail isn’t here yet.” I stated not moving my glance from the window. Trina mumbled something about addiction or mental health insurance or something and walked out the room leaving just me, the window, the neighbor’s cat, and that little Hispanic guy cutting the lawn across the street as the only things moving this morning. Slowly the neighborhood began to come alive; people wandering out to their driveway in their bathrobes to retrieve their newspapers or young school children snickering and pointing at the adults in their bathrobes as they walk towards their bus stops. Time and traffic seemed to inch along ever so slowly and none of the vehicles remotely resembled a mail truck. I signed deeply causing my breath to fog up the window briefly before disappearing.