Nine-oh-eight Glenview Road was the best part of carrying the mail. Ten blocks into my suburban trek, there she’d be, stretched out on a neon towel, sweet and slick as a glazed cruller. I took extra care with her magazines and college brochures, stacking them into a neat pile secured with a rubber band. Usually, she slept through my visits. Or ignored them. I couldn’t tell which.
But once, a butterfly landed on her thigh. It breathed its wings open before she sat up and to brush away. She lifted her sunglasses and was arching her back a graceful stretch when she saw me.
Eyes locked, legs locked, jaw locked.
Our future dangled in the silence, the weight of a million little hopes testing the thread.
With a single word, she broke it.
Richard Edwards has a BFA in Creative Writing and Journalism from Bowling Green State University and an M.S. in Education from the University of Akron. Managing editor of Drunk Duck, poetry editor for Prairie Margins, reporter for Miscellany, Akron Journal, Lorain Journal, and The BG News. He has also worked as a professional writer and editor in the medical publishing industry for several years. For the last 15 years Richard has also taught literature and writing at the secondary and post-secondary levels. He works much of the time with at-risk students.