The Dead Letter

The mail truck went down the coast road carrying a single letter. There were sixty-five miles of nothing but ocean view between Carver City and Masonville, and it seemed like such a waste of time. I can't remember having made this trip for a single letter before. My name is Malcolm Fergusson and I deliver the mail.

My curiosity got the better of me so I pulled over to the side of the road and opened my mail pouch. The envelope, yellowed with age, bore a fifteen-year-old postmark. There was no return address, but what I found most interesting was the seal of red wax that held the impression of what could only be considered as some type of crest. I chuckled to myself that this letter must have fallen behind the filing cabinet during the last century. Now feeling at least a little better about making the trip to Masonville, I pulled back onto the road and continued my journey.

The drive, though uneventful, was pleasant enough. At this time of the morning there was just enough traffic to reduce the boredom, but not so much as to cause inconvenience. After the eternal, ninety-minute drive, I exited the coastal highway and found myself on Main Street in Masonville. Feeling fortunate, I pulled the envelope from my pouch and re-examined the address: Mary Stewart, 114 N. Main Street, Masonvile, CA.

I pulled my truck to the curb in front of the quaint little flower shop. It had not yet opened. I could have just slid the envelope through the available mail slot, but since I noticed an elderly woman arranging flowers inside, and knew the letter to be quite old, I decided to knock.

Mary Stewart, though quite short, cast a noble shadow as well as a pleasant demeanor. I introduced myself, apologized for the tardiness of the postal service and handed her the letter. She smiled and invited me to have a cup of coffee after such a long drive. I declined the beverage but asked if she would mind if I inquired about the contents of the envelope.

As Mary noticed the crest, tears began to well up in her eyes. "It's from my son," she said, and now anxiously broke the seal and opened the envelope. Inside was a Mother's Day card. "This is such a gift," she said, " you see, my son died fifteen years ago."

As I drove back to Carver City I vowed never to regret the long trip to Masonville again.


Note: This story was the result of a Creative Writing Class assignment to write a story based on the line "The mail truck went down the coast road carrying a single letter."