Morning's Indication

 It was 7 o'clock in the morning, and Naomie was wondering if it was true, what her grandmother used to tell her. "The way you start your morning is the way your day goes." She really hoped that wasn't true, because her morning had started with her opening the door, stepping out, and  promptly tripping and falling, spilling her coffee all over herself. The offending object? A box. Nothing special about it. Just a small-ish box wrapped in brown packing paper.

  She took it inside, but didn't open it. She was angry. A box that behaved that way towards her had no right being opened right away. It could just sit there and rot for all she cared.

   However, as the pain and early-morning annoyance faded away, so too did Naomie’s indignation, and it was replaced with a feeling of embarrassment. Had she really just had a mental temper tantrum against a box? Obviously she should open it. It could be something important. As she sat and stared absentmindedly at the box, it began to feel more and more familiar, and it dawned on her that it looked exactly the same as packages her mother used to send out. She began to remove the tape, eager to see the contents, even if they were just something as boring as cat food. At that moment, however, with the tape half hanging off the box, she heard Bubba stirring. She set the package down and went to go check on her grandmother. By the time she had finished her daily routine with Bubba, it was time to go to work.

She put the package on a bookshelf in the hallway, and resolved to open it when she got home, not thinking about the strange nature of bookshelves, and their ability to keep things just beyond the veil of consciousness. Things put on the bookshelf tend to stay there until the user decides to actively peruse the shelves once again. Only then, as it appears before their eyes, do they remember the object they placed there so long ago.

Fall Breeze

Naomie hopped in her truck, more invigorated than usual. The fall breeze had arrived, swirling around the maple leaves. There was something about autumn that she just loved. It was an odd period between the lethargy of summer and the hibernation of winter, where people truly awoke, even if only for a month or two. In the fall, everything was a little sharper.

She was in such a good mood that she didn’t even mind that there was praying mantis in her seat, which she brushed away with little care, never one to be afraid of bugs. Squirrels, on the other hand. They had it out for her. They were the only downside of fall, as they scrambled for nuts, staring at her with those beady eyes. She put on some John Lennon, eager to think about something else.

As she drove along her route, Naomie could faintly hear the high school band practicing, chanting “Go, fight, go, fight, win!" Fall was also the time for high school football. Ah high school. Those days free from the claws of reality, those days when she had dreamed of leaving that little town, and travelling the world. But there was no point in thinking about that now. Slightly unsettled, she continued her drive, sifting and sorting and placing mail as she went. However, a pleasant distraction soon popped up. They were setting up for the fall festival!

The fall festival had always been a highlight in Naomie’s life. Even when times were rough, she knew she could escape into that world of pumpkins and mazes and crafts. And it was a different world, not like St.___ at all. Bubba had always told her that St.____ was the town that slept. That was why they had moved there, after all. But the fall festival carried with it a vibrancy that did not match the normal pace of the town at all. Although she could have stayed there all day, watching the sunflower maze appear, she had a route to complete.

She drove back into town, already bobbing for apples in her head, when something drew her out of her daydream. There were sirens and bells ringing, spreading throughout the town. She looked up, and what she saw was so steeped in irony that William Shakespeare himself would have applauded it. The fire station. It was on fire. And the firemen were calling themselves to come put it out.

Naomie watched as the fire department finally sorted themselves and put out the flames. Once this was done, she walked over to Felix, one of the deputies.

“Is everyone alright?” she asked.

The deputy’s eyes were downcast as he responded, “No, we lost Lewis.”

Naomie squeezed her eyes shut and muttered a quick prayer, just like her grandmother had taught her, but she was distracted. Death had struck St._____, and Naomie could not help but wonder whether the town would give any reaction at all.

Another letter, another day

   It was one of those days. One of those days where everything just seems to be slightly off. It had started of normally enough. Naomie had gone through her typical morning routine, then headed off to work.
   She drove to the post office, greeted her coworkers, then got in her mail truck, ready for another day of delivering letters. Sure, college would have been nice, but money was tight, and someone had to take care of her grandmother. Anyways, the job of mail person had fascinated her since she was a child. She couldn't quite put her finger on why. Maybe she wanted to be the one to bring the magic comes with a personal letter. Maybe she just loved the blue sky and wanted to see it all day.
   Whatever led to her current position, she had a certain fondness for it. She got to see the town everyday, while others were stuck in offices and meetings. She knew exactly how everything should be. Today, she drove down Bond Street, like always. Today, she smiled and waved at the melancholic violin player who sat between the coffee shop and Dan's Diner. She wished she could stop and talk, but she had a route to complete, like always.
  Unlike always, however, today, something shot out in front of her as she passed the Episcopal Church. Something big. Something furry. She slammed on the brake and shut her eyes tight and reopened them. There was nothing there now. Unsure of what had just happened, she continued her drive, because that was what you did in this town. When something strange happened, it was just one of those days.
 

Apt. no. 303

  The day started with crunch. Naomie looked down in dismay to see her alarm clock shattered on the carpeted floors that look like they'd witnessed the age of dinosaurs. How did it even get there? She had just given it a gentle tap. Maybe it was more of a rap. It was possibly a slap. Fine, she had punched it right off of the table.

   She stumbled into the kitchen to start the coffee. Almost out of filters again. It was time to go to the store, but somehow that kept getting put off.  Once her elixir of life was ready, she was a little more alert. An admonishing meow arose from behind her. She had forgotten to put out Lancelot's food, and he was not standing for it. Cats, she muttered under her breath. How did she end up with one of those mini tigers that passed for pets?

   After Lance had been served, she winded through the hallways to get to Bubba's room. Books jutted out from all sides as if the hallway was some strange well-read cave with stalactites and sharp rock threatening every step. As she narrowly avoided a catastrophe involving Mr. Darcy, Scout Finch, and Jay Gatsby, she once again considered straightening up a little, but decided that was best saved for another time.

   She took the last step into Bubba's room without registering the creak of the final hallway floorboard as it protested her presence. Within the room, she heard the soft beep beep beep of the heart monitor as if it was saying yes, everything was in working order--for now. The blinds let in the light in a rather disorienting fashion. Among the zebra-like slats of sun, she could see her grandmother's face, peaceful in its slumber, the etches telling the story of her life. After checking all her vitals, Naomie decided to let her grandmother sleep. After all, that's what she wished she was doing.

   Walking back into the kitchen, she grabbed a yogurt from the gurgling fridge, and checked the calendar to make sure that a nurse was on the schedule to care for Bubba today. Satisfied that she had covered all of her bases, she navigated her way to the bedroom. She threw on her uniform and grabbed her bag. At the front door, she performed the series of rituals necessary to open the ancient door. After slamming her body against the it two times, abracadabra, it opened. Naomie closed the door behind her and glanced over her shoulder at the crooked three shining against the worn out wood. It wasn't much, but it was home.