My chest twisted with a pang of discomfort. These were neighbors—people we smiled at, waved to, shared block parties with. And here they were, dismissing him, mocking him, making him invisible. Eli’s small hand sought mine. “Mom, why are they being so mean? He’s just trying to do his job.” My throat tightened. “I don’t know, baby. Some people forget what it means to be kind.”
The mailman finally reached our driveway, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his neck. He gave me a weak, polite smile. “Afternoon, ma’am. Got your electric bill and some catalogs today.” His voice was hoarse, dry, almost fragile. His hands trembled slightly as he reached into his bag. Before I could respond, Eli leapt to his feet. “Wait here, Mom!” He bolted inside, sneakers squeaking on the floor. I heard the refrigerator open, cabinets close, and small clatters from the kitchen. The mailman looked confused. “Everything alright?” he asked, faint concern in his voice.Continue reading…
