Every day the red flag on the box would go up until I went to read the note. The note delivered instructions for the day. Sometimes I was not too fond of the directives, so I left the messages in the box and went about my business. On those days, the flag would go down and not rise again unless I came to open the mailbox searching for the news it held.
On other occasions, when the weather left the path muddy or piled with snow, I pulled the covers over my head and went back to sleep. The elements posed too great an effort to respond. However, as time went by, I grew to rely on the words of wisdom in the instructions.
Before this moment, I had never seen the messenger at my door; he just said, “this is for you.” and thrust the card in my hand and ran out into the rain. Hang on to what I gave you were his last words before disappearing from view.
Meet the 7:40 train is all it said.