I cannot remember the last time I walked to the mailbox to send out a letter.
I remember when I walked to the mailbox to get my packages out of those big compartments.
But I cannot remember when I went to send OUT a letter.
A letter that I had written. Well, typed.
Then slipped into the standard sized, clean, white envelope.
The sticky flap thing that was folded over said no moisture was required and that once sealed, it will glue itself together with the top flap. But it lied. As soon as I put those blue gluey parts together, the flaps separated like the sea being separated by Moses.
I grabbed some scotch tape and taped the two flaps shut.
I grabbed a pen and scribbled the outgoing address.
When had I actually handwritten an outgoing address on an envelope? In high school?
No idea.
I wrote my forwarding address. So weird.
I grabbed a stamp from my dad's office. He has loads of those still.
Then I walked. Out of my house.
The weather was nice. Not too chilly and not too cold. The sun was out but not blazing.
The wind gently greeted me as I headed out of the cul-de-sac.
With every step, I prayed.
"God. Please. Let this letter arrive safely."
Step.
"Let this letter arrive safely."
Step.
"Let this letter arrive safely."
Step.
"Let this letter arrive safely."
The mailbox was right around the corner and as I made my way, I held the letter with both hands. Like how you would receive an allowance envelope from your grandmother.
"Let this letter arrive safely."
I slipped the letter into the outgoing mail slot ever so slowly.
I had to make sure that it was completely in the box. I slid my index finger into the slot to ensure that all corners of the envelope were fitted into the box.
"Let this letter arrive safely."
I turned and walked back home. I felt a little bit lighter than before. Even though the letter probably weighed less than a pound. I felt as if a burden had lifted off of my shoulders.
It is no longer up to me now.
"God. Please. Let the letter arrive safely."