The Mailman

The mailman arrived at exactly 8:30 a.m. every Wednesday. Every Wednesday he would go to the last house on Maples Street and deliver the mail, which included letters, taxes, and subscriptions. Every Wednesday he would arrive and find the house empty. He would open the mailbox and leave the family’s mail. He would later return to Maples Corner and wait for the bus. When he arrived that Wednesday, he found a teenage boy sitting on the front porch.
“Well, hello there. Good Morning!” he said with a smile.
The boy did not look at the mailman; however, the mailman barely noticed.
“Lovely weather, isn’t it?”
The mailman shut the mailbox and walked toward the boy. He pulled a magazine from his bag.
“I have here your monthly magazine. I’m assuming it’s yours,” he said.
The boy lifted his head and took a glimpse at the mailman’s face. The mailman gave a quick smile and handed the magazine. He noticed the boy’s watery eyes. Somehow, he felt like asking, but suddenly shut his thoughts as the boy grabbed the magazine and lowered his head again. The mailman gave a sigh and walked away. Halfway through the street he was when he suddenly turned around and walked to the house. When he arrived, he noticed that the boy wasn’t there anymore. He gave a worried look and started to walk away.
“Why did you come back?” a voice stated.
The mailman froze. He knew he was alone…or at least thought so. He turned back and looked at the porch again, but no one was there. He looked around, but no neighbor was there. He stood in silent for a moment.
“Up here!” said the voice.
The mailman followed the voice and to his amazement, found the boy sitting on a branch of the front yard’s tree.
“Did you forget something?” asked the boy in his own peculiar accent.
His tone sounded a little high pitched, as if he had been crying…or was going to.
“No. I was just wondering…is everything all right?” asked the mailman.
The boy lifted his head and looked toward the sky, and began to talk as if the mailman were not there.
“I like to come here; you know…just sit and look at the sky…watch the clouds slowly move. It clears my mind…and it’s kind of funny.”
He looked at the mailman, who had a puzzled face. The boy gave a smile.
“I’m sorry,” said the mailman. “I shouldn’t be here. This is none of my business. I should go.”
He began to walk away.
“I don’t know,” said the boy in a weird yet mysterious tone.
The mailman stopped, turned around and stared at the boy, who was now standing on the ground.
“I beg your pardon?” asked the mailman.
“You asked…if everything was all right…” started the boy. He sighed and, with a strange pain and difficulty in his words, finished, “I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m sure things will get sorted out for the best,” said the mailman politely.
“How can you be sure?” asked the boy.
“I don’t know,” replied the mailman.
The boy laughed. Whether it was irony or not, the boy found the mailman’s words amusing.
“Does it hurt?” asked the mailman innocently.
The boy stood in silent for a while. He started to analyze his issues; he got lost in his thoughts for a second…perhaps for a minute (who was counting at that moment?). Then, the boy gave a smile.
“No…it doesn’t!” he exclaimed as if trying to convince himself.
“Well, I’m glad about that,” said the mailman cheerfully.
A cool breeze waved.
“I should go now.”
The mailman began to walk away once more.
“Thank you!” shouted a voice behind him.
It was not until he had taken a few steps more that the mailman decided to look back. When he did, the boy was no longer standing there. The mailman looked at the tree and saw the boy sitting on the branch again looking toward the sky with a big smile on his face that said, with no need of words, that everything would be ok.