Red letterbox door
There is a red letterbox door in a house around the corner.
A double door with a golden letter box right in the middle. The house is old, character flows out of the bricks that hold it together.
Each time I walk past the door my mind goes to the letters and bills, invitations and junk mail that has sailed through that golden flap and onto the floor behind it. What stories are held within those envelopes?
Was there one with cursive writing that carried love from the other side of the world? That brought with it stories of rain forests and monkeys in trees, slightly bled through blue ink on white paper, telling stories from a son gone off around the world on the adventure of a life time. Caring the words written a few weeks ago, promises of news soon and wishfully remembering tea in the kitchen on cold winter days.
Was there one on 240 gsm paper, with gilded golden foil inviting the resident to the party of the year? Black tie only, cocktails on arrival and a champaign dinner to follow. Did it cause someone to buy that red backless dress they’ve always dreamed of, and for shirts to be drycleaned and ironed stiff, as shoes were polished, ready for the party of the year. Was the invitation left on the kitchen table on arrival home, as late night tea was made and toast buttered to soak up the cocktails, as laughter rang out at stories from the night?
Was there a credit card bill with a shocking cost on it, or one that gave away an expensive dimond ring? The one that changed their lives forever as it was presented from one knee, with candles in the dinning room. Not quite the suprise he had hoped as the visa bill that slipped through the door gave it all away…but still the sweetest of mornings and greatest of life moments, that started their future.
Were there many birthday and christmas cards piled up each year celebrating the next chapters, congratulations cards as children were born and graduations happened?
What was pushed through those red doors, by postmen in red vans, running quickly in the rain and whistling on the fresh spring days?
What secrets and stories does that red letterbox door have and hold?
What stories could it tell if only it could talk?
Each time I walk past the door my mind wanders into all the possibilities.
R/
