Thursday, January 26, 2017


What would you do with a thousand dollars? Do you spend it? Save it? Hide it? I've been turning this thought over and over in my head for a month. I don't need a thousand dollars- do I? Normally I would jump at the opportunity, buy something little and save the rest. But this money doesn't fall under normal circumstances. It feels unnatural. Sure, I know I'm not stealing, and I know that this money, is, in some way, supposed to be a gift. But why? Why now? I don't know what to do with it. I might as well push it out of my mind again.

Recently I've been writing more. I've been finding scraps and trying to recall bits and pieces from my day, so I don't forget. I try to focus on the positive aspects, like the girl I ate an entire bucket of popcorn with at the movie theater, Sail. Or the new song I've been listening to over and over again. But I write down the bad things, too. I'd rather not go into detail about those. I've been sending all of these notes to my dad. He hasn't said anything when we talk on the phone- that is, if we talk on the phone- but I know he's been receiving them. I can hear it in the warmth of his voice. It's not as shaky when we talk now. Today I'm going to mail him this week's envelope. Of course, it takes a lot of guessing to figure out which mailman is in, but I've gotten pretty good at trying my luck.

I have a hunch that today I should take a gamble on the mailbox by See's Cafe. Nobody ever sees the mailman who mans the station, Ethos, but I'm determined. As I lace my shoes, I glance over to old can of tea bags I keep my spare change in. The money is in there. I can feel a sense of guilt wash over me all over again. I silently walk over to it, open the lid, and look in the tin. There it is, one thousand dollars in cash. It glare at it, hoping I will somehow find a solution to my problem. As I stare, a see something tucked under the right corner of the wad. It's one of my notes. I don't remember writing this one, but I must have. It's in my handwriting. It reads: "Ethos. See's Cafe. 2 pm". I am in awe. I must have woken up in the middle of the night again. Sometimes when I wake up, I do strange things, like draw a picture of someone I've seen that day or bake a cake. I guess now I'm predicting things. Wait- it's 1:44 now. No wonder I had a hunch. I take one lsat look at the money, and grab it. I know what to do with it now.

I sprint down the roads to See's Cafe. I know that you're not supposed to send money in the mail, but I'm still not ready to make the journey to visit him. Not now. I'm not prepared. He isn't either. I walk around the corner of the building, in the direction of the mailbox. At the box is a little boy. He is most likely around the age of eleven, and wearing a small blue cap. I have never seen him before. He is small, probably coming up to my chin. He wears a patch on the back of his shirt. "Winthrop Place Postal Service" it says. I am in shock. "Are you... Ethos?" I ask quietly. He turns toward me, gives one short nod, gets on his bike, and drives away. The entire experience is more than odd. It's bizarre. But far be it from me to question the tactics of an eleven year old mailman. I smile to myself at the thought.

I look at the small box in my hands briefly before putting it in the mailbox and shutting the door. On the label, in my handwriting, are the words:
"For Dad- 734 Morning Glory Circle, Franklin TN, 37064"
I finally feel I've made the right choice.