By: Megan Finsel
The sun beat heavily upon her shoulders as she walked to the end of the driveway, but she didn’t see him. A stray breeze whispered through her light cotton skirt, brushing her knees. She stopped at the mailbox, long blades of grass poking up between her toes as she opened the little door with a creak.
Inside was the yellowed envelope, just where she knew it would be.
She sat down with her back against the wooden post and her legs crossed at the ankles. Opening the envelope carefully, she pulled out the piece of creased stationary and unfolded the letter. Long, masculine script unrolled before her eyes like ripples in the pond down in their south pasture. She smiled at his familiar handwriting. The letter read:
Not a day goes by that I do not think of you or what we had, and I want you to know I still love you as I did on the day we said “I do”. I am sorry I left you so soon; it was never my intention. But I am with you every day. Never doubt that I am watching over you still, that I am here with you. I love you, Rachel; even though death did we part.
She blushed, tucking a stray curl behind an ear. As she held the letter to her heart, she felt tears nipping the backs of her eyelids, so she shut her eyes against the sunlight.
“I miss you,” she whispered.
He stood there at the end of the driveway, watching as she walked toward him. She was just as beautiful as when she walked through the Church dressed in white. But her expression was worried, like when she had adjusted the collar of his uniform. He could see the sadness in her eyes, much as when they said goodbye in the doorway on the last day they were together.
He watched as she went to the mailbox, as she did every morning, and removed the letter he had written to her.
When she sat down, he went and knelt beside her. A curl of hair fell into her face, as it used to when they were dating. He resisted the urge to reach out and push it behind her ear, aware that he could do no such thing. He saw her eyes filling with tears, as she hugged the letter to her heart, and he swallowed past the tightness in his throat.
Sitting down with his back to the mailbox post, he could hear her breathing, her heart beating, and remembered what it felt like to hold her in his arms.
He looked at her from over his shoulder and replied, “I miss you, too.”
Bio: I’m a Special Education major with a love for books. Writing is my passion; it is how I connect with the world and share my thoughts and emotions. To get to know me more you need to read my stories because I put a piece of my heart into each one. My goal is to inspire at least one person through my work; then I know I’ve done my job.