At the Post Office

I’ve had these letters finished and ready to send north for a week. I get to the Post Office- I’m the first in line and the smiley man should be back from his lunch break in ten minutes. I lean over the banister to look down at three floors of people bustling to class, taking a shortcut on the escalators, brushing off the coat of snow they’ve accumulated.

Seven more minutes and I’ll be able to cross something off my To Do list. I lean over the banister and think about how my gum has lost its flavor.

Five more minutes and I will have accomplished at least one thing in the past week. I drape my mitten covered hands over the banister and look down to see a girl who desperately needs a hairbrush, slowly drifting downward, away from me. I want to open my mouth and watch her reaction as the stale gum falls past my lips and plops into that nest of dirty blonde. She would reach to the back of her head and look up, actions that would allow the chewed glob to dig its way deeper into the knots. Her disgusted eyes would meet mine. I would shrug and the distance between us would grow greater and she would disappear on the floor below me. What’s she gonna do? Run up the opposite escalator and yell at the weirdo who just spit gum in her hair? Doubt it.

Is the post man late?

There is a group of cheerleaders at the entrance to the center, among the foot traffic. They are touching each others shiny hair. Some girls look like idiots no matter what distance you are from them. A girl who could not have been less than 300 pounds walks through their pow-wow and steps onto the escalator. Out of breath from her slow, reverberating tread. Guaranteed to never have been a cheerleader, never to be a cheerleader and I wonder if she realized this at the same time I did. She looks up at me, worn mittens, holes showing.

Fuck, it’s Presidents Day. The Post Office is closed.

I go to walk away as a green-haired boy walks up with a package. I tell him my newest revelation as he takes the head phones out of his ears. “This screws up my whole day. I’m supposed to eat lunch with this box? People will look at me weird.” I fail to remind him he has green hair. “You’ll be mysterious. Everyone will wonder what the dude’s got in his box.” We just look at each other and smile and laugh and I don’t think I would mind if he kissed me. There is something oddly romantic about the Post Office. I fall weak to it every time I’m there. Even when the only guy to choose from has fucked up his hair.

When I fall in love again, I hope it’s at the Post Office.