It was late in the evening and darkness covered the earth.
I was hesitant.
Fear came over me like a shadow of an overhead plane.
My mouth went dry. I swallowed a sandpapered swallow.
As hard as I tried not to, my hand had a slight tremor to it as I tentatively reached out.
Once my fingertips made contact I closed my eyes and held my breath.
Do I or don’t I continue?
The possibilities were endless. This could be horrific or as uneventful as a dog laying in the sunshine.
I decided to risk it all.
I took another deep breath as my fingers tightened against the cold metal. Wait, should I pull slowly or one quick yank?
If I pull slowly, it might give me some time to react.
If I yank it fast, whatever happens will be done without time to consider. Like tearing a band aid off a hairy arm.
I choose the middle of the road and deliberately pulled with conviction. Just short of a careless yank.
The door yawned open and this time only harmless mail greeted me.
Yes, I’m afraid of the mailbox. Lest you judge me to be weird or foolish, there is history surrounding that metal greeting container.
Take the four sons, farm critters and mischievousness that grows aplenty around here and you can imagine the stories to tell.
Son #3 hid in a truck with a camera trained at the mailbox waiting for Son #2 to get his mail. I think that one ended up with two birds napping in a metal sauna by the time Son #2 opened the door. It was more fun watching Son #4 and #3 catching the birds, stuffing them in the box and quickly slamming the door closed before they flew out.
Did you know that mailboxes are the place mice go to die? Apparently, this is a phenomenon prone to our area, especially our county, specifically our driveway and to be exact our mailbox which seems to be hit pretty hard with this quirk of nature.
A flag has found its resting place there. The metal, gold, eagle that rests atop the flag pole keeps it company
.
If you consider all the other startling events I’ve lived through that usually involve the use of dead animals, mix in springtime that automatically brings trouble, with the fact we’ve had a few calm days without incidents, then you might understand the fear.
I think I might need some counseling. Mr. McFeely has invaded my dreams.
