Worth Waiting For

My hubby was telling me stories of his childhood and the things he looked forward to as his family was not financially secure. He lived in West Virginia with his mom, sister and grandparents. He loved adventures and getting into mischief. I can certainly believe that. This is a story I wrote while thinking of him. I can just see him now in my mind's eye.

He stood at the mailbox, one foot resting on top of the other, leaning into the post as if to make himself a part of it. A look of expectancy filled his face, lighting his amber eyes as it candles burned from within. He appeared to be about eight years of age, reed-thin, with elbows and knobby knees quite evident in his tie-dyed shirt and worn denim cut offs. He hair was rusty-red, and stuck straight up like the tail feathers of a rooster. His left hand repeatedly reached up to push the hair from his eyes. He shaded his squinting eyes against the glare of the sun and stared long and hard down the rock-laden dirt road, as if expecting something of great importance to arrive at any moment.

Unable to bear the suspense of his long wait, his feet began kicking at the base of the mailbox post, first one foot and then the other, in short jabbing motions, the toes of his sneakers sending spurts of pebbles and dirt into motion. Hearing a vehicle approaching, his face suddenly became alert, chin pointed in the direction of the oncoming commotion. A red truck carrying a load of noisily clucking chickens appeared, its wheels lurching drunkenly over the rocks and ruts in the poorly maintained country road.

The boy's face fell, his lips stretched taut as if to keep from crying, and his shoulders sagged dejectedly. His whole stance was one of rejections.

The boy, seemingly tired, settled himself down upon the sun burned grass, and once again took up his position as the watchful guard of the mailbox. The hot noonday sun beat down upon the now bronzed hair, warming the defenseless looking boy, lulling him into slumber. He dozed beside the mailbox, his outstretched hand still keeping contact with the post, as if to break the tie would mean the loss of his eagerly awaiting dream.

Suddenly, the sound of squealing tires rent the air. A red, white and blue mail truck came hurdling around the curve. The boy jolted awake by the noise, quickly leaped to his feet, his face breaking into a gleeful grin. His lips let loose a whoop of joy, shrill and full of excitement. His sneakered feet beat a staccato rhythm against the hard, sun-packed earth. At last the driver of the mail truck dipped into his mailbag and brought forth a small brown package and deposited it into the boy's extended hand. As soon as the package lay safely grasped within, the boy turned and quickly sped down his walkway, all the while yelling at the top of his lungs, "Mom, mom, my secret spy decoder ring finally came!"

Have a great day today and enjoy that sunshine.

Hugs