Friday, December 13, 2019
ZAGREB, CROATIA
PETRA
Petra trudged up the street in her uniform, her shoulder aching under the weight of her postal bag.
It was less than two weeks until Christmas, and it felt like everyone in Europe had shipped bricks to loved ones.
Today had been yet another damp, bone-chilling day, and she ached to lower her body into a hot bath when her shift ended.
Truth be told, on days like this she longed for the ease of her job at the Ministry of the Interior. But that yacht had sailed.
Her annoying cousin, Una, got her a job as a postal carrier, shortly after everything fell apart, and Petra had taken her up on her offer to live together.
It wasn’t all bad. The laughing was awful, that was true.
It was like when you’re grating cheese and you get cocky and grate a chunk that’s gotten too small, scraping your fingers.
Only the scraping was happening in her ears.
All. The. Time. But at least Una wasn’t furious with her, unlike her immediate family, who still hadn’t gotten over the whole tabloid thing.
Una thought it was hilarious. (Of course she did.) The TMZ money had gone to a very expensive surgeon for a new perfectly straight, slightly smaller nose, although so far it wasn't attracting male attention like she hoped it would.
She passed by a happy couple on her way as she trudged along.
The man was pushing a bundled-up toddler in a stroller, his wife’s hand tucked into the crook of his elbow.
They were too pleased with themselves to be aware of the cold and the sight of them made her want to scream.
That could’ve been her. Well, maybe if she’d have gotten pregnant accidentally on purpose with Luka’s baby.
But then she’d be with a man who didn’t love her even a little bit.
Instead, she had a job she hated and a roommate she only sort of tolerated.
At least they both liked the same television shows.
No more watching wholesome lonely farmers looking for love.
Una preferred the Kardashians and The Bachelor, and even better, Temptation Island.
They spent their evenings eating potato chips and watching the glamorous, racy people, and making fun of them from the safety of the sofa in their small apartment.
She pulled out a stack of letters and turned onto the next sidewalk, toward a tall, beige house with a red clay roof.
Removing the rubber band around the envelopes, she sifted through them to make sure they were all going to the right address.
She’d worked out they were a family of four with the last name Goli?.
Mr. Goli?’s mother lived in a tiny village in the very southern part of the country, and loved to send cards and letters to her grandchildren for every occasions.
She’d even sent one for Halloween! Imagine that.
Today she had a thick hunter green envelope for each of the children with an embossed gold star affixed to the flap on the back. Each would have at least one hundred dollars in them, Petra knew it.
She tucked one of the dark green envelopes into her bag, at the very back.
That one would go home with her. It was the one for the boy who lived here, whose name was Luka, which meant he didn’t deserve anything.
Unlike Petra, who worked tirelessly to get these people their packages and bills and letters each day, who surely should have a nice treat.
She only allowed herself one of these a week, so she had to be smart about which one to select.
Over the last few months, she’d learned that you wanted the expensive envelopes, and the sender had to have fancy, but slightly shaky, handwriting.
That meant it had been written by someone old who wouldn’t know how to e-transfer money.
Sometimes she was disappointed to find a check.
Checks were useless. If that happened, she’d allow herself two envelopes the next week.
She put the remaining envelopes into their mailbox, then jogged down the front steps, glancing up to see the sun was nearly disappearing.
It would be dark by the time she finished her route, but the corner store would still be open, so she could buy a bottle of vodka for her and Una to share, hopefully with money in her envelope.
By the time she’d get out of the bath later, finally warm, her hands wrinkly from the water, she’d have all but forgotten poor little Luka Goli?, who wouldn’t be getting anything from his grandmother this year.
But it would be good for him. After all, one was never too young to learn that life was filled with disappointments.
THE END