The Post Office

“Oh, God,” Mary-Anne breathes.

I pause. Mary-Anne is the kind of atheist who gives other atheists a bad name. I’ve told everyone at work that I’m agnostic because of her. That tone isn’t one an atheist make except maybe in bed just before a heart attack.

“Jeff. You - you should go in the back,” she says to me. “Clean things up. Sort dead letters.”

“I don’t -,” I begin when I spot the boy. He is eleven, with several boxes in a red cart he’s pulling behind him and grins a hello.

I think I understand Mary-Anne at the grin. It’s wild, free, joy and delight and other things I have no words for.

“Hi! I have packages,” the boy says proudly.

“We do take those at a post office, yes.” Mary Anne shoves me toward the back. “How can I help you today, Jay?”

“You remembered me! Charlie says lots of people do as a defence mechanism, but that’s a charliejoke and!” he flings out excitedly, “I have hearts!”

I stop at that. “Some of those boxes are a bit large?”

Mary-Anne looks at me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mouths, but I don’t know why.

“Did you know that lots of people break their hearts,” Jay asks. “Because they do do I have some whole ones for them!”

“I assume they all have proper addresses?” Mary-Anne says.

“Uh-huh!”

“Ones we can get to? On earth?” she says as if that is what we ask all our customers.

“Yup! I made sure there aren’t any oopses at all,” he says.

Mary-Anne nods, and Jay comes up and unloads them on the desk. Each is labelled in a neat child’s handwriting, some heavier than others. She takes them gingerly, looks them over.

“The Old Wood isn’t a valid address,” she says.

“Oh! I can deliver that one myself then!”

And something happens. The box blurs along with Jay and a moment later he is standing there again, only with dirt on his t-shirt.

“The rest are okay though?” he asks anxiously.

“Yes,”Mary-Anne says quickly.

“That’s jaysome,” he says, pulls out a wallet and hands over twenties until Mary-Anne tells him to stop.

She counts it out, hands that boy back change. “Is there - is there anything else we can help you with?” And I swear her voice cracks a little.

“Nope! Oh! I forgot this one almost,” and he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and hands Mary-Anne a small box. “Because sometimes dreams lose their hearts too!”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Jay beams and bounces out the door.

*

Mary-Anne quit less that a week later. Last I heard she was working as a lion tamer. Me? I’m still at the office. Everyone looks at me as if expecting me to quit at any moment. Jay has come in twice since then. Always with packages.

We process them. Head office insists that no one cause an Incident. No one talks about what that entails. Sometimes they contain hearts. Or sorrow catchers. Or get out of jail free cards.

I have a secret. I’ve received two packages in the mail from Jay. I recognize his handwriting.

I’ve never opened them. I never will.

Some things are best left broken.