The mailbox by our house was always empty. No one sent us any birthday wishes, no one outside the state wrote to tell us how their life was going, relatives never bothered to send us Christmas cards, no one created any kind of sign that showed us they cared.
Well, through mail anyway.
We were a small town, it all traveled from mouth to ear and then back again. No one bothered to write when you could walk down to the grocery store and have a nice chat by the icebox in the heat of summer.
We only had one traffic light too, and when that broke down every month or so, we barely noticed. No one paid any attention to it when it was working, and the sheriff never pulled anyone over for running a red light, because there was no one for them to run into.
Some people thought our town was just a rest stop for excited tourists on their way to see the Grand Canyon, but I guess they didn't see the high school and family clinic right by the exit of the highway. The school we went to together, where algebra was more bearable, and I didn't complain so much when Mr. Griffin gave out science homework.
Things got awfully quiet after you left. There was no one to go on long drives with on Saturday evenings, no one to share chocolate milkshakes and fries with at the diner . . . not even someone to talk to when school got a little too overwhelming.
No more telephone calls, no more afternoons of studying together after school, no one to share my records with . . .
No one. Just an empty spot next to me on the park bench.
You said you'd write, but it's been nearly a year and still the mailbox in front of my house is empty, the door nearly off its hinges by now. Rusting away, waiting for your letter to come.
This town isn't the same without you. Your mother won't talk to anyone anymore, your father left on a business trip a while ago, although we know that's not really why he left. Taxes are going up, prices are outrageous. You wouldn't believe me if I told you how much your favorite candy bar costs now.
It hasn't rained in a while either. The skies have been crystal clear since last Monday. I know Monday was your favorite day of the week, and you were never one to enjoy the rain. They say it's coming, but not anytime soon.
I just thought you might like to know.
When it does rain though, I'll think of you. I'll try to remember where you are now. Did you say it was in Africa? Or Asia? I can't recall, those last few days together went by so quickly . . . too quickly.
When the sun shines, I'll think of you. When someone smiles, when I try to ace my English test, when I read your favorite book, when I drive by myself on Saturday evenings, when I drink a milkshake all alone, when lightning flashes, when I look at the clock, when I see your old house, when I sit at the park bench . . . I'll think of you.
I'll think of you every moment of every day. I'll count the minutes until we're together again.
I hope you'll write soon.
The mailbox is still empty.
-msof57
Author's Note: Inspired by Coldplay's "In My Place."
