Work wasn’t as hard as I anticipated it’d be. Mostly the pain came from being worn out from my routine at the Air Force base and driving so swiftly all the way home. This time around, my task was merely sorting out letters and packages – no delivering. It wasn’t surprising though, considering how much mail came in this time and that it was already quite late in the afternoon.
“Your mind gets kinda frazzled after so many hours scanning over letters and numbers, doesn’t it?” I told Ashley as we settled down for a quick meal of muffins and drink before the final leg of our shifts.
“At first you find yourself comfortable with it, but over time your eyes get a little fuzzy feeling in the back,” she replied, taking a sip from her Thermos.
“Almost like a nano-sized jokester is tickling your eye nerves with a feather,” I added, causing her to chuckle – and almost spit out her coffee.
“Good one, Brian. Good one.”
We finished up our muffins and drinks before heading back into the sorting room and tackling the next container of mail. Often these late ones were the most important due to their origins – they came from overseas and so had to be handled with an extra streak of care and dedication in sorting. More than once I came upon a small package or letter from a pen pal to another, or sometimes a lone kid to their parents. Of course, I never opened the envelope, but I could tell by the handwriting styles.
“Makes you ponder over the lives that some of these people must be living, far, far away from us here in America,” Ashley whispered.
“Absolutely,” I replied in a low voice.
We emptied the last of the boxes of unsorted mail, standing back and admiring our well-formed organizing job. With every letter and package in their right place, it was time to depart. While Ashley stuck around for a little longer to clean up some of the floor mess, I hopped in my Subaru and headed straight back home as the sky turned dark. I still had plenty of work to do – vacuum the house, file a zillion transactions, and make an organized list and plans on what I’d sell and how I’d sell it.
“It’s been a while,” I muttered, booting up my laptop and logging in. I stayed up until almost midnight trying to plug in all the data and create a checklist, selling plan, budgeting plan, and signs. My final decision was to set up a garage sale and make a Facebook post on it to attract more attention.
By midnight everything was complete and the papers were ready to be printed. I set my old Lexmark to an automation cycle and hit the pillow just past midnight, completely exhausted.
My eyes fluttered open some six hours later with the sound of a soft breeze blowing through the window I’d left open. I stretched awake, performed a brief morning prayer, and skipped down the steps to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Fleetfoot greeted me, standing upright and holding a container of milk between her front hooves. I cringed, fearing that it’d slip and smash on the ground in her attempt to hold it. But amazingly, she made it across the kitchen floor and set the carton down on the table.
“You’re such a courageous Pegasus, aren’t you?” I teased, picking her up and giving her a warm hug. She was quite large and heavy, but it wasn’t much of a strain on my military-grade arms. And then Fleetfoot did something unexpected: she turned and gave me a little kiss. It wasn’t a quick peck, but more of a smooth, caressing one… one that clearly signified love and affection.
“Fleety, dear, do you actually have a cr-”
Fleetfoot raised her hoof and planted it firmly over my lips before I could let out another word. Her hooves were fairly soft, but had a hard streak to them nonetheless, and my lips stung from the impact.
For a moment, we looked into each other’s eyes, letting the comfort of our warm bodies and the tranquility of the silence enhance the spirit of love that was now flowing between us. Finally Fleetfoot single-handedly broke the silence with four heart-shaking words.
“I love you, Brian.”
“I love you too, Fleetfoot,” I replied, feeling a little awkward returning the favor twice over as I gave her a kiss. For a moment, my mind flashed back to Ashley, who I presumed would be irked had she seen the moment.
I poured some milk into bowls, Fleetfoot fetched the cereal and fruit, and we ate a good-sized breakfast. Today was Friday, which meant that I had a day off from the Air Force program, but still had work in the afternoon. In this 72-hour time span I hoped to set up a good yard sale, which would last throughout the weekend until Monday.
“So, what shall we do today?” Fleetfoot asked me.
“We’re going to sort through all of my stuff and decide what has to stay and what has to go,” I declared. “You pointed out earlier in the week that my garage had too much stuff in it, remember?”
Fleetfoot nodded in agreement.
“It’s time we did something about it.”
“So you’re going to sell some stuff?”
“Yes, starting today. First though we need to sort so we don’t accidentally end up selling stuff we want to keep. Mind helping me out?”
“Sure. I’ll do the best I can.”
We began in the basement, where I kept three boxes of my old memories. My mom had originally wanted to give it all away, but my superglue-like heart wouldn’t let it go. So, I kept them in a couple boxes until over time they were finally forgotten… until today.
“Is this all your stuff?” Fleetfoot asked as I lifted item after item out of one box.
“Yes,” I sighed regretfully. “Many of these are of pretty strong significance.”
I held up a small jersey shirt and shorts. “I wore these to my soccer game at the age of five. It was a great day of triumph and pride for both my father and I.”
Rumaging through the second box, I pulled out a black and blue one-piece rubbery garment while she gazed, bewildered as to what it was.
“This is my old wetsuit from when I was a young teenager. My mom gave it to me as a birthday gift. Fond memories of diving in it with swimming classes with my father.”
I went on showcasing about five more items before placing them all back into the boxes, which we then promptly carried back upstairs, where I found a few more unused items and placed them into a pile in the living room. For over three hours straight, Fleetfoot and I discussed, debated, and argued over what stuff to keep and what to sell. Some items were badly damaged, so we had to throw them away.
“You seem to have plenty of toys,” she complimented as we sifted through a pile of colourful plastic and shiny metal.
“I sure did,” I said with a chuckle. “Too many, in fact.”
We decided to sell all the remaining toys, except for three: my old Rubik’s cube, a pink yoyo, and an unfinished logic puzzle book. I washed and dried some of the clothes, then folded them into neat stacks. By eleven a.m. we were ready to go. Fleetfoot and I took out some old tables from the garage and wiped them clean, then set them at the end of the driveway. We taped up our price and item signs, and Fleetfoot posted promotion signs all over town. I brought out the toys and clothes, while she took out some of my old tools that I didn’t need anymore, along with two of my four socket wrench kits and my old workbench. Sure enough, at the peak of noon, the customers arrived.
“These shirts look good!”
“How much you charge?”
“Any more of these wrenches?”
“I want that workbench!”
To avoid commotion, Fleetfoot stayed out of sight inside the house while I did all the selling. The value wasn’t top-notch but impressive nonetheless. In four hours I’d raised over $500, and there was still more left over. While waiting for the last of my customers before heading off to work, I re-entered the garage and carefully selected all the tools I didn’t need to do service work on my Subaru, and added them to the sale tables. Finally, one last man came, and my tables were soon completely empty. In total, I’d made $850 – more than what I’d expected.
“We did it!” I exclaimed, running inside waving the thick wad of cash in my hand.
“Congratulations!” Fleetfoot exclaimed, running up and hugging my leg tightly. “You did it.”
“And not without your help, Fleety,” I replied. Even after lifting so much stuff throughout the day, I somehow still found the strength to lift my love up, hold her in my arms, and give her a big cuddle and an affectionate kiss, complete with a little whisper.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’d be lost in the journey of life without you.”
“Just gotta earn the other half,” she joked, and I quickly realized what she was hinting at.
“Well then,” I said, gently releasing her on the soft carpet, “I’d better get going.”
Skipping back up the stairs, I darted into my room, threw on my work clothes, slipped on my shoes, and ran out the door.
Work at the post office was sorting as usual, only this time I drove the mail van to a different neighbourhood. Here the houses were pretty large – so large they made my tiny one-garage two-story look like a Native American teepee. Many had three garages or more, and some even had more than one front door. I felt like a street mongrel at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. What felt odd was that the mailboxes were classic small ones, complete with address number tags and flags. It did look bizarre for such large, high-class homes to be using such old-school methods of storing mail. Nonetheless, the huge houses looked incredibly captivating, with their smooth tall porch columns, well-formed bricks, elegant smooth driveways, and large, well-kept yards.
It really was a reminder of the vastness of the difference between the poor and the rich – and how working hard would pay off. If I wanted to maintain a good upkeep of my home, my beloved car, and my best friend, I’d have to get a better job than just sorting envelopes and delivering wrapped and labeled boxes.