Wendy J.

It was just an envelope. Only an envelope.

I stood there, with the hot July stones digging and burning at the soles of my feet. Cars rush by, and the wind that follows in their wake lifts more of the overflowing envelopes, magazines, and junk mail out of the mailbox and into the air before gravity coldly pulls them back down.

I’m making innocuous observations. God save me.

I shake my head and turn the envelope over in my hands, marveling at how light it feels. How on earth could so much hang on this feather-light little thing?

I tap the envelope against the palm of one hand as I watch the breeze carry a Papa Murphy’s coupon far off into the distance. I turn my gaze back to the envelope and consider the wind.

I could just let it go. I could let it go and never know…

Well, I amended, I hadn’t written two of the essays. I knew perfectly well what was in that envelope, I just didn’t want to see it.

There was a tearing noise, and I realized that the envelope was torn open and my hands were carefully unfolding the sheet of paper inside.

I stared at that lone, solitary number in puzzlement. Was 3 the new 1? I turned it upside down and held it up to the sun.

Was three the new one?

I felt a sinking feeling deep inside. I hadn’t written two of the essays. I deserved a one. By the grace of God, I deserved a one, but if what little effort I’d put in had managed to earn me a three…

Just imagine what I could’ve done.

If only… if only.


(Note: The librarian did something fancy with the html code, so if this is kinda wonky, totally not my fault.-wendy jackson)