Okay everyone, where are you all now that I need you, huh?
I knew it, the second I saw the mailman pull away from the curb and saw the thin large envelope in the mailbox (our mailbox is celebrating its fourth year without a door, and is a bit distorted, but the brave little thing has passed all those winters victorious against the snowplows). I slipped calmly out of the barn through the French doors (yeah, classy, eh?) and patiently waited across the road from the envelope until our normally low traffic level passed, my mind already constructing a spike strip for handy use.
Head held high, I retrieved the mail and recrossed the road to the house. Who? Who doesn’t like me? Who wasn’t enraptured by my story, by my words, by me–who has been know to spend a solid two weeks on describing hair?
What did the mailman think, when he saw my own return address on the envelope? Does he know? Am I a failure in his eyes as well?
In the privacy of my kitchen, I carefully tear open the envelope, knowing that most likely this submission, if not badly bent, will be back out the door by daybreak.
Okay for you, Triquarterly Review! You missed your big chance at discovering me!
But I’m a little hurtin’ inside, for all my bravado.
And, I’ll probably be a bear in class tonight.