The VERB Writing Ezine - May '07

THE MAIL CARRIER
by G. Howard Anderson

I could be disturbing wild sleeping animals, or stepping into a hole that could drop me to certain death, or a hundred other things my overactive imagination could drum up.

I came up on a cave, which was hard to believe. In the middle of nowhere, a cave jutted out of the ground like a tunnel. It had a tall opening, taller then me, and a hole in the roof that let sunshine in. I ran inside because I couldn’t come up with a better plan. I had to think.

Okay, don't panic. You know the area. You've been delivering mail around here for almost five years. Get your bearings. See the woods and see the roads and houses. Where are you heading?

“No!” He appeared just outside the cave, and my heart stopped.

I got up slowly and backed into the darkness. Yes, I realized that wasn’t a very smart thing to do. I could be disturbing wild sleeping animals, or stepping into a hole that could drop me to certain death, or a hundred other things my overactive imagination could drum up. But none of those things seemed half as important as getting out of the light.

“I don’t care!” he said. “I ain’t going in there!”

He walked in front of the cave again, squeezing the axe, staring at the ground. Who was he talking to?

“Like those cars over there, for one," he said, pointing. "Or down at the creek or … or, hell, she could be at the fence by now.”

Several seconds of silence, and then he shouted to no one there. “Shut up!”

The one-sided conversation went on for a few more minutes, and then, out of the blue, he broke down. “I can’t do it,” he bawled. “I … I can’t do it.”

As quickly as he started, he stopped. He wiped his eyes with one bloody hand and said, “Deal.”

Ed Campbell took off for the car graveyard. He held the axe like a rifle, slicing through the weeds and brush. He leapt around the cars, peering inside and under them.

Looking for me.

His mail carrier.

Who pulled up to his mailbox while he was killing his wife.