It was another sunny day in April. The same as the last three before it. Robert was on his way home for lunch and to check the mail. He was doing his best to seem casual, trying to hide his growing aticipation for what might be wiating in the mailbox. As he passed each additional young tree-lawn, Robert smiled a bit more. No one was going to spot him on his walk to the mailbox, he wouldn't have to invent some lame excuse as to why he was coming home for lunch when every other day he packed himself a brown bag or went around the corner from his work. Without incident Robert reached his letter-box on the curbside. He opened the rusted metal door and thrust his arm into the box without looking. His fingeres searched until they found a single rectangle of glossy paper. Robert's face lit up: it was here!
"Robbie? Hey there! I thought I saw you coming from around the corner through my window as I did the dishes, but I wasn't sure. I came out to check and look! here you are: what a pleasant surprise! And doesn't 'pleasant' perfectly describe the weather today? Its so perfectly pleasant!"
Robert, caught in mid-motion, extricated his hand while leaving the contents. He waved to his neighbor, "Hello, Margaret! How are you? I was just thinking this morning how nice it was out, I thought why not come back home so I get some fresh air during lunch? So here I am, just like you said."
"I'm doing just wonderfully! How could I not on a day like today?", Margaret smiled, perhaps a bit knowingly, "Were you checking for the mail just now? It hasn't come yet,-" Robert winced "-Joseph, the postman, doesn't come until 2:30, surely you remember that from the weekends?"
"Ahh, how right you are! That completely slipped my mind, I"m waiting for a package. I must have let the mail schedule run away from me in my excitement.", phew that sure was some swift lying he thought, maybe a snap of the fingers for emphasis, yeah, that'll do it!
"Well, I hope your package comes very soon and that you enjoy whatever it is. I know how hard waiting can be sometimes, especially since I'm here most of the time." She laughed, "Well, I better get back to those dishes or they might dirty themselves all over again. Goodbye, Robbie!" She waved then glided back into her house, her sundress flowing with her steps.
Robert waited until he was sure she was inside her house again, then removed the card from the mailbox. Looking both ways down either side of the street he confirmed there was no one else around, then headed into his own house hurriedly.
Once seated safely at the kitchen he flipped the postcard over and over in his hands making sure it was real; trying his best to reassure himself he wasn't still dreaming under his duvet in his king-sized bed. Robert pinched himself for good measure: nope still here.
The postcard had a strange fragrance. It didn't smell wholly good nor bad. The scent was like a combination of jasmine and burnt ozone. Over the past few days he hadn't been able to figure it out at all. There was a beautiful photo of a sunset on an exotic beach with green sand on the front. In bold friendly letters the photo proclaimed, "Greetings from _______" The last word was scratched out by what looked like a car key. Robert flipped the card and began to read.
Dear Robert,
I don't know where or when this postcard will find you, but I hope it finds you wel. Its been ridiculously sunny here in _____ (again the name was scratched out, almost as an afterthought). I hope the weather's great whenever you are too. I was walking through the village market looking for some fruits and bread for breakfast when I saw a young girl with her hair in pigtails walking with her father, hand-in-hand. It brought me back to when I was little and you'd take me to the seaside on Sunday afternoons. We would pick the roundest stones and have contests to see who could skip their stone further. You could always get your stone 15 to 20 hops, much more than I could ever do, but you would always cheat and somehow I'd win. I'd run around doing that absurd victory dance, pumping my tiny fists in the air, chanting, "Beat Daddy! I beat Daddy! I did it!" and then I'd finish my victory lap by running into your wide open arms. We'd watch the sunset then go back home to eat dinner with mom. That's what I thought about when I saw that father and daughter; I kind of got stuck in a revere, standing there with my head probably cocked at an angle and a goofy smile on my lips. I seem to have run out of space once again, they never seem to make these quite big enough for everything I want to say. I suppose this is until next time then...
Love,
your daughter,
Venus
Robert placed the card back on the table and wiped his eyes which seemed to be a bit moist all of the sudden. A few days ago when the first postcard had come he thought it had been simply and odd prank or a wrong address or a coincidence. But now...well now Robert was still befuddled. He was starting to believe that perhaps Venus actually could be his daughter. The problem was he didn't have a daughter or at least not yet. Robert was 28, single and had been living alone for at least the past four years, perhaps a bit more, it was hard to recall when his last roommate had moved out. There hadn't been a recent girlfriend, nor a past one that would have amounted to a daughter. But even through all the evidence to the contrary, Robert still was start to believe in Venus somehow, someway. His only quibble: would he seriously name his future daughter Venus? Really?
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