“Show me if you can dance.” I had tried to do the cigarette-butt-and-towel trick. It had amused them. “Show me one more time,” one voice had yelled. I had looked through them to seek the speaker. If I wasn’t into men, I would have fallen for her. She had the perfect wheatish skin, white teeth, thick lips curled in a flirtatious smile, and big mischievous eyes.

     That was my first impression of my future best-friend. It has been a long time. Yes, fifteen years is a long time. Life moves on and people change but do they change that much.

     I wonder if the smile is still there.

     “I will be back in a minute,” I mumbled to the person behind me.

     I walk towards the right-side wall for a better look. Her teeth are smeared with ink. Probably because of a bad copier. Or probably, I am wrong. It does looks like her. I think it is someone else. But the eyes are still the same. There is that hidden secret in them. that something which the rest of the word doesn’t know about.

     I wish I had done something sooner. Probably it is an old poster. There must be some misunderstanding. It is not her. But there is a go-city-kids poster of last weekend’s events peaking from its bottom. so this is a new poster? The contact information is an 800 number, not the local area code.

     What happens now? How are her kids doing? I don’t even know if she has children? I am sure she must have kids. They might be my daughter’s age. It has been so long. I should have called. I should have kept in touch. But I had to take care of myself first, didn’t I.

     I remember, he used to change three flights to drop and pick her from during semester breaks. He used to wine and dine and stay at the poshest hotel. He would pay all her debts without complains. I used to wish I had a father like hers.

     I would hope that my father had money like her father. I never knew. For five years we were bestest friends and I never suspected anything.

     What pushed her to the edge? Was it the father or the mother who never intervened? Was it still going on, fifteen years later? Why didn’t her brothers stopped it?

     Probably because they are busy taking care of their own families. But she is also their family.

Wanted poster

     Why is her wanted poster on the post office wall? Did she finally confronted him and snapped? Or is it about the boyfriend who used to abuse her?

     She used to call him her savior. She would say, “I will marry him and not go back to that hell hole.” Sure. She would have a black eye and new bruises every day. What kind of savior does that? She would say, “He just feels powerless . . . he loves me so much.” She would try to convince me every evening, as she would get ready for him.

     Did she marry him or found someone else. Did that slimy-savior pushed her over the edge. She could have called me; I would have done something, anything, so it wouldn’t have come to this.

     The post office woman is asking me if I want Priority Mail or regular delivery?

     I need to finish this, pick-up my daughter. I need to carry on with my life. What can I do? I don’t know where she is. I don’t know who she is anymore. I can ask Chris, he knows that guy from work whose brother-in-law is a beat-cop. I can find out what this is all about. I can do it when my daughter is at ballet. I might be able to help the authorities. But that would mean I help them catching her. What if I just tear the poster, it would simply go away, wouldn’t it.


2 thoughts on “A Poster in the post office.

  1. I really like your style and continued analysis of this valley. The post office poster is intriguing and goes along with the Silicon Valley brand of curiosity. You are very prolific and I enjoy the variety of topics you pick. Keep going. Ellen A


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