Mailbox

by Lauraine Alberetti Lombara

       
   She stood at the mailbox, staring at the letter addressed to her as if it came from outer space. She saw it was not presort bulk mail and there was no return address.  Walking back to the house that she bought a few years ago, she felt the finish of the envelope.  It was mid-weight, more ivory than white in color, and she supposed it was a bit pricier than common stationery.

              Her life now was her own – simple and frugal – and if asked, she might admit she was lonely at times, but it was her choice.  There were moments she missed: her years as daughter, wife, mother,

friend.  So many of her family and friends were gone now – moved afar, died, relationships finished.  No one had contacted her since she moved.  She was content to be free of obligations.

              This letter was vexing and intriguing at the same time. Should she open it or just toss it away?   It didn’t appear to be a legal document as it was not typed but precisely handwritten in ink, but she did not recognize the script. She wondered if the postmark would provide a clue.  Entering her house, she turned on a bright lamp and donned her readers to discern the date and originating post office location.  Foiled by a blurred postmark, she threw it on the counter. She decided to leave it overnight and make her decision in the morning.