He wasn’t bringing me a soda to thank me for the mail.Ship Packages
He was bringing me a soda because my loud, square mail truck was the only vehicle that pulled into his driveway all week. He was standing in the freezing cold just to hear another human being say his name out loud.
I looked nervously at the dashboard clock. I was already ten minutes behind schedule. My supervisor would probably yell at me. I would probably get written up.
I reached out, took the keys out of the ignition, and stepped out of the truck into the cold.
“Well,” I said, pulling my postal jacket tight around my chest. “I guess it’s a good time for my lunch break.”Ship Packages
Silas’s eyes lit up in a way I will never, ever forget. It was as if someone had just turned on a light in a dark, forgotten room.
We leaned against the cold metal side of my mail truck in the biting wind and popped open our sodas. For twenty beautiful minutes, we just talked.
He told me all about his late wife, Ruth, and how she used to bake the most incredible pies with the apples from the massive tree in the front yard. He told me how much he missed the simple, chaotic sound of his children running down the wooden hallways of the farmhouse.
I, in turn, told him about my struggles trying to figure out my twenties. I talked about my own anxieties, my fears of falling behind my peers, and how fast the world felt like it was spinning out of control.
“The world is always moving fast, kiddo,” he told me gently, taking a slow sip of his root beer. “You just have to decide what’s worth stopping for.”Shop Craft Beers
