Mailboxes and Hesitation

I was standing in the rain next to a blue mailbox, Trench coat billowing in the wind, hesitating with the envelope in my own trembling hands.

I was never this unsure; I shouldn’t have written the letter if I wasn’t going to send it. I never believed in that “Write a letter and don’t send it” stuff, it never made sense to a practical person like me. What’s the point of writing a thorough and detailed message explaining my feelings to a person if they would never read it? What would I do with it if I didn’t send it? Throw it away?

I shook my head, water slicking off my old fedora. I knew I couldn’t do it, I was amazed when I wrote what I felt. I never really was a ‘touchy-feely-lovey-dovey’ person, and when I was, I wasn’t open about it. People just never understood, I wonder if anyone will ever understand. My hands were really shaking now; I was protecting the precious envelope from the rain with my own body, holding it inches from the slot in the mailbox.

Why? Why was I hesitating? Only hesitant people hesitate, at least, that’s what I thought. I always acted impulsively, wondering if I did the right thing after the fact. I think my real problem was that I wouldn’t be able to undo my actions after slipping the letter into the slot; I wouldn’t be able to reach in and grab it again. That wouldn’t usually bother me, I’ve said things I shouldn’t have and haven’t been able to un-say them. So why was I still standing here in the pouring rain, clutching a letter and shaking like a mad man?

I think the real answer lies in who I was sending the letter to. A girl that I was always fond of, she’d moved away. Far away to Europe, she’d gotten a job offer there. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised when she’d finally told me. For some reason, I’d expected her to move to Europe, even before the job offer. It made sense, all the artistic and sunny faced people moved to Europe. Leaving the logical and pale ones in the states, standing alone, clutching letters and standing next to mail boxes in the middle of the night in the pouring rain, right?

With a sudden burst of decisiveness, I shoved the letter forward, deciding once and for all that I would send it. As I watched the envelope slip into the mailbox, my eye flicked to the corner of the rectangular pocket. No stamp.

The thought made me giddy, no, Hysterical. I giggled, and then chuckled. The sound echoed through the streets, even through the pitter-patter of the rain. I tore the fedora off my head and tossed it behind me, unbuttoning my coat, I started walking down the street. Laughing loudly as I shed my coat, because there was no stamp, just like last week when I hesitated to send the same letter.