It took me two years to become a postman. To pass the test I had to carry a seventy pound bag of mail and when I first picked it up I fell over and the instructor laughed at me so I picked it back up and could carry it for a long time but later that night I hurt a lot and I was mad that I had to carry such a heavy bag just to drive a car and deliver the mail.

I deliver the mail on Mondays and Wednesdays and Fridays. The first time I delivered the mail I got to deliver Dennis Somerset’s mail which made me happy. Mr. Somerset is a famous person. He is a weather man and tells me the weather every morning but never at night and anyone who is on TV must be a famous person. Sometimes I am jealous that Mr. Somerset is on TV and I am not because I wish I was famous but then I don’t know why I would ever be on TV so I feel sorry for ever being mad at Mr. Somerset because he is the best weather man ever. I watch him every morning. If he was not the weather man I would not want to be a postman, especially in the winter. He is always right and he knows when it will snow or not, which makes me happy because I do not like the snow and then I can know the snow is coming. If it snows I still have to deliver the mail unless it is real bad snow but it never is real bad snow, and I cannot drive well in the snow, so if it is going to snow I like to know before it happens. My coworker James puts chains on my truck’s wheels.

Most of the time, Mr. Somerset receives coupons and bills in the mail. His mail is boring but I know he is not a boring person. Mrs. Somerset also receives mail but her mail is boring too and I do not know what she is like but I don’t care because she is not a weather woman and she is not Mr. Somerset. Every time I deliver his mail I have to get out of my truck and walk to his door and push it through the mail slot. One time I asked Mr. Somerset why he did not have a mailbox like everyone else and he said it was because he wanted to keep the postmen in shape and I laughed and he laughed so we laughed together. I was happy because I was laughing with someone who was famous and so I knew that Mr. Somerset liked me.

It was three months ago that Mr. Somerset gave me a letter to deliver to his friend. I felt like an important person because Mr. Somerset trusted me with his mail, but not just coupons and bills. It was real mail. It was addressed to Leopold Tapette of 232 Ridgecrest Dr. I knew Leopold but only because I knew his house and his house was on my route. I did not know why Mr. Somerset was sending mail to Mr. Tapette but I knew it must be important because Mr. Somerset never sent mail to anyone.

When I took Mr. Somerset’s letter home with me I knew I was doing something I shouldn’t do. It is a federal offence to tamper with mail and I should know better than to open someone else’s mail because I am a postman but I wanted to know what Mr. Somerset said to Mr. Tapette.

I stared at the envelope for a few hours because I did not know how I should open it and I also felt guilty for wanting to open it but that did not stop me from opening it. Finally I decided to open it the way they had told us to open something when you forget to put the check in with the bill. I heated some water in a tea kettle and then held the envelope over the steam and the flap came off when I slid a knife between it and the envelope was open.

November 30

Dear Leopold Tapette,

I hope you don’t mind me writing you a letter. I asked Mike from the YMCA for your address. (He has a book of all the members contact info.)

I heard that your parents died in a car accident. I guess that’s why you stopped coming to swimming lessons? I’m sorry I wasn’t at their funeral. I didn’t hear about it until a while ago. Are you living by yourself? My father just died a few years ago. It isn’t the same as what you’re dealing with, but if you need someone, an adult to help you, I’m here for you. Or if you need some money or somewhere to stay. I didn’t get to know you so well when you did go to swimming lessons, but you got on quick and you were smart. I mean, you did get a 35 on your ACT the first time you took it. Of course you’re smart. I’d hate to see a kid so gifted as you are loose their life through such a tragedy.

Maybe going back to swimming lessons would give you something to hang onto. When my father died, I spent the whole day swimming laps. It gave me something to do instead of think about it. It might help you. If you need a ride I can take you. You could teach the class next year, when you turn eighteen. Scott quit so I have to teach both classes. You’d be able to take the real little kids off my hands; they call me Mr. Weather man. Isn’t that silly?

Please write back as soon as you can, or call me. Do you still have my phone number?

I hope everything is all right,

Dennis Somerset

When I finished reading the letter I felt even guiltier and I put it back and glued the flap down. I was worried for Leopold so I knew then that I wanted to read more of Mr. Somerset’s letters. Mr. Somerset was a good person I knew because only good people got really nice jobs, like being a weather man, and if he cared so much about Leopold than I knew I should care about Leopold too. I thought about writing my own letter to Leopold and telling him that once my dog died and we put him in the back yard with the other dead dogs but then I knew that I didn’t know him and it would be weird.

The next day I delivered the letter to Leopold Tapette’s house. He was standing outside next to his mailbox and waiting for me. I thought he was waiting for me because he knew I had opened his letter but when I saw his mailbox I knew that was not the reason.

His mail box looked like it had been chewed on by a monster and then spit back out and put on sideways. Regulation says I cannot deliver mail if the mailbox is destroyed so I knew that Leopold was waiting for me to give him his mail.

“Hello Mr. Leopold Tapette,” I said when I handed him his mail.

“Don’t call me that. It’s Leo.”

“Why do you not want to be called Leopold?” I asked this because I thought Leopold was a nice name and I didn’t know why someone would not want to be called by a nice name.

He looked at me like I had said something that he did not understand then he said, “Leopold is a stupid name.”

So I did not call him Leopold anymore because it was a stupid name.

Leo looked at his mail for a while and I didn’t drive away even though I should have. His eyes were puffy and dark and his skin looked like bed sheets drape over his bones.

“What happened to your mailbox?” I asked after a while. He didn’t seem bothered that I had not driven away yet so I didn’t think he would mind if I asked.

He coughed into his hands and tucked the mail under his arm and laughed. “Kids in the neighborhood thought it would be a good idea to bash up The Fag’s mailbox.”

I pretended to be sorting through the mail for the next houses so that I had a reason to still be there. “What is a fag?” I asked.

Leo laughed and said never mind. After that he said goodbye and went back into his house.

The rest of the day I thought about Leo and how he looked dead and how his mailbox had been beat up. I wanted to ask my coworker James what a fag was but I was too embarrassed because the way Leo had said it told me it was not a good thing.

The next time I was delivering mail Leo had a new mailbox and the red flag on the side of it was sticking up. It was a hard one with concrete inside of it. I was glad he had bought this mail box because that meant no one could bash his mail box anymore but that also meant I may never see him again.

This time I knew I could not take the letter home with me. I felt bad for wanting to open the letter but it would be worse if someone found the letter at my house, where it should not be. I took the letter with me and stopped outside of Millie Baker’s house.

Mrs. Baker is a nice woman with a beautiful mailbox. It is white with flowers and birds painted on the side of it. I like sitting outside of her house even if I don’t have letters to read because she has such a nice garden. I have always wanted to get out of my truck and go smell the flowers in her garden but I knew Mrs. Baker wouldn’t like it if I did that.

Honestly I did not want to open the letter. I knew that no matter how I did it Mr. Somerset would know I opened it. When I stabbed the envelope with my letter opener I hoped he would not care if I closed the envelope’s wound with tape.

December 5

Dear Dennis Somerset,

Yes, my parents are dead.

No, I don’t want to go to your stupid swimming lessons.

Thanks for caring. =)

PS: Don’t call me Leopold

Leo

I put the letter back in and taped the envelope with scotch tape. I didn’t want to think about what Leo had written so I finished my route and delivered the letter and then I went home.

I tried not to think about the letter the rest of the day but I did anyway. I didn’t understand why Leo was so mean to Mr. Somerset when he had been so nice in his letter. It made me want to tell Leo that he should say sorry to Mr. Somerset and thank him for all his kindness, but I knew I could not do that. Secretly I was also glad I did not write Leo the letter about my dead dog because then he would have written me a mean letter too and I did not want a mean letter written to me.

For a while I only delivered coupons and bills to Mr. Somerset and Leo never received any mail. I stayed away from Mrs. Baker’s house, except to deliver mail, because she kept asking me about her Home & Garden magazine even though I didn’t have it.

When I saw Mr. Somerset standing outside of his house and holding a letter I was happy again. I hoped that it was a letter to Leo and it was.

December 12

Leo,

Thank you for coming to the Y. Your last letter worried me. You know I’ve always cared about you, Leo. Why don’t you go to school anymore, either? It worries me that you’ve changed so much since your parents died. I know you’re happy, but what will you do when you get older? And you are so smart. I know I already said it, but you can’t let this ruin your whole life. I can help you, and we can work through this pain. You’ll become famous for something, I’m sure.

Before I could finish reading the letter, I heard Mrs. Baker coming out of her house. I put the letter under my seat and smiled at her.

She walked down next to my mail truck and smiled at me. Millie Baker looks just like one of the house wives from Leave it to Beaver. “Excuse me, Mr….?” She was looking for my name tag but I don’t have one.

“My name is Emmett Pryth.”

Mrs. Baker makes me nervous because she reminds me of my mom. My mom never liked me, and so I was sure that Mrs. Baker didn’t like me either.

“Mr. Pryth, I still have not received my Home & Garden magazine.” She was wiping her hands on her cooking apron. The apron looked dirty but her hands looked clean. I didn’t understand why she was wiping her hands on the apron, unless she was trying to make them dirty too.

I looked through my piles of mail until I found hers. There was no magazine for Home & Garden in it. I did not know what to tell her.

“Mr. Pryth, I have called the magazine company and they have sent it to me. Where is my magazine?” She continued to wipe her hands on the apron. It almost looked like she was cleaning a knife off, but there was no knife in her hand.

“Have you talked to the Post Master, Mrs. Baker?” I tried not to stare at her hands while I talked to her and instead I looked at her face. She is kind of ugly because she has hair on her top lip and women weren’t meant to look like men.

“Yes, I have. In fact I should have received my magazine yesterday.”

The way she was staring at me made me feel uncomfortable. I think she was thinking that I had stolen her magazine but I did not understand for sure. Just in case, I told her I didn’t have her Home & Garden magazine and that I would never take it or need it because I live in an apartment with a dirt patch out front and I am not allowed to plant flowers. I also told her that I liked her garden a lot and that I wished I could have one just like hers. I hoped that maybe this would make her like me but she only made a funny noise and went back inside.

I finished reading the letter a few houses away from her. I don’t like Mrs. Baker as much anymore, even if her garden is pretty.

I guess since you don’t have a phone line and don’t want me to pay for one, I will continue to write you letters. I’ll have to think up some excuses if we ever plan to meet again. When I told my wife I had to stay after because a student got hurt, she seemed a bit skeptical. I don’t think she would guess about what is really going on, but we may need to find another way.

Are you sure you are all right with this? I know it’s weird. You’re almost eighteen though. It isn’t that weird, if you think about it. I hope you don’t think of me as a bad person. I don’t normally take advantage of young men when they’re in the throws of grief.

Thinking of the weather (Always?)

Dennis