One Mailbox Down

Short, very short story. About the conflicting desire to be stable and to run away.

My right foot stabilizes my body as I stumble from my bed. My left foot searches for the ground, perpetually searching.

            I gather myself and arrive at the west end of Main Street for my internship. Phone calls strike early, assignments attach themselves to me and I’m gone.

            I’ve run to a church -- slightly evangelical, barely furnished. Eight year olds fly through dance moves shown on a projector screen. They’re happy, as long as the teachers keep praising them for their loose motions and pitchy singing. Snapping photos from a distance, I’m drawn to one kid who claims his own spotlight. He seems happy. All of his dance moves exhibit a cabaret style. I kneel to take a few pictures -- my right foot stabilizing me, my left foot perpetually searching for the ground.

            Another assignment and I’m running. The lights glow from the parking lot as I waft through the crowd. The cotton candy and the popcorn smells entice me into the fair. Wandering around, I spot a guy with an armful of prizes. He seems happy. Bringing his daughter to the fair was a dream of his --the fair had brought him joy as a kid. Exiting under the glowing arch, I pause to take some pictures -- my right foot stabilizing me, my left foot perpetually searching for the ground.

            And then, I dash off to the dog show for more interviews. The arena maintains the smell of dogs trying to be clean, but still being dogs. She holds her Brittany as though she clutches a family heirloom. But she’s happy. The dog strains to kiss her. A hardened face explodes into a smile. I know I have to capture the moment. I kneel down to photograph -- my right foot stabilizing me, my left foot perpetually searching for the ground.

            Then I sprint towards my final assignment -- a grand opening. Crowds gather to see the local Nascar celebrity. They’re happy. Momentarily, they would approach the celebrity, gush about how much of a hero he was to them and plead with him to sign their replica car. For now, they roast in the July heat, waiting for city officials to cut the ribbon. But they are happy --inextricably tangled in their happiness and perspiration. So I kneel down to photograph the ribbon cutting -- my right foot stabilizing me, my left foot perpetually searching.

            But I lose my balance. My right foot -- normally so secure, so stable -- slips. And my left foot, perpetually searching, finds the ground. It feels the security of the pavement, revels in the respite that the ground provides.

            Then the left foot falters and I’m down.

Author's Note

Does the repetition within the piece (specifically of the events) lose the reader's interest too early on or is it enough to fuel it on towards the end, when the story culminates?

Reviews

[Brad Nugent]

I think the brevity of the story works. It helps the repetition to become a valuable aspect of the story and helps to progress the action. The description and choice of vocabulary is extremely well done. Keep writing.