A Short Story

The woman made the fifteen mile trip back into town to the post office.  Dinner had been served and the night had turned dark.  A deer slipped from the dark and crossed the road successfully.  She parked the car next to the curb, locked the rig, and went inside. 

Tucked amongst rows of post office boxes, she found the recycle bin blue can, removed its lid and began to sift through the pile of catalogs, envelopes pleaing for money, and ripped-up unidentifiable pieces of paper.  Her visit here earlier brought her back to this place.  Standing under bright fluorescent lights, illuminating the gray postal quarters to reveal the bare ugliness of the place, she searched for the envelope mistakenly recycled earlier in the day. 

Catalogs grabbed her attention.  Stylish covers with company names never seen caused a pause in the search.  Some were even opened and paged through.  Sweaters sporting the fancy selling price of $385 for 100% cotton amused her and she went back to the methodical process of sifting through the day's jetsam,  discarded by many mail collectors with the optimistic belief the pages will be put to a better or another use. 

The day had been such a busy day; holiday luncheon, a vehicle that needed washed, phone calls to return, and investigators to provide answers in response to tert and pointed questions.  The stop at the post box was ill-planned in the day's activities as she was already running late.  With the air of  pompousness, she prided herself, once again, at being the sorter of the omnipresent begging missives wrapped in envelopes and found within the two post office boxes she and her husband kept there at the old post office.  His box was filled with these silent paper pleas.  Because he sent them money.  

She quickly went through the pile.  Two letters having the same insignia caught her attention and she decided to keep one and recycle the other.  It seemed like a compromise.  If someone was willing to send two declarations for a donation, she would deliver one home. 

And then she got home.  It was then when it was discovered there was a tag for a year's snowmobile permit within the one envelope.  No, she had not read the letter insignia.  

And that is when she traveled in the dark of the Wyoming winter night to revist the old post office. 

The other envelope was found at the very bottom of the blue recycle bin. 

The End.