Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Write about a postcard

It was a few days later that she found it. When it fell through the mail slot onto the floor, it glided farther than the heavier envelopes stuffed with invoices and promises of wonderful products and services. It landed under the armchair that sat next to the door and remained there until the vacuum cleaner grabbed a corner and started to whine.

“Oh crap,” she said as she switched off the machine and pulled the now tattered card from the brush-covered rollers. She tossed it onto the coffee table and resumed her Saturday morning cleaning routine.

It was a long weekend. Her job had kept her longer hours last week than normal. The chores she usually completed during the week piled up and consumed her weekend, leaving her feeling extra tired and somewhat melancholy. Another week such as the last awaited her tomorrow. And the week after that. The boss joked about “job security” and “get ‘em while they were to be got.” Not funny.

Sunday evening, she sat down on the sofa. Selecting not her usual side over by the lamp where she would turn and stretch out her legs but instead the very center. She vaguely wondered which side she should fall on: her right or her left.

It was then that her eyes fell onto the tattered card. It still lay on the coffee table between the fake floral centerpiece and the artfully arranged oversized photo books that no one ever opened.

“Oh crap,” she said again and picked it up. She rose to take it to the trash but before she tossed it in, she looked at it. Then she stopped. She read it. A smile slowly spread on her face and her eyes glittered with sudden possibilities.