Mailboy (Wattys 2015 Winner)

1. not so enchanted

"I believe in hate at first sight," -Marilyn Manson

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 June 30th, 2013 - Zoey Willow Hunter.

SUMMER LOVE was stupid. I never really believed in all the talk about falling for someone in less than a few months. It was unreal, the idea of committing to someone you barely knew; someone who, somehow, managed to turn your entire world upside down. Everything about it was silly.

When you fall in love, it happened with someone that took your breath away just by seeing them smile, because you knew every curve, every stop, every street on their body and soul. And you were prepared to face the obstacles that came along with it, you dedicated a part of your heart to them. They wrote their name on it with a permanent marker.

Pedaling at an average speed, I took a look at the segway by my side and smiled. Mr Walters was humming one of my personal favorite songs, I'm Yours by Jason Mraz. He never grew old, no matter how gray his hair was. No matter how much life spun by, he stayed the same.

We simultaneously stopped our, as I liked to call, vehicles in front of the Johnsons'. I took the heavy blue backpack off, and opened it, searching for the letter J through the flood of neatly placed envelopes.

"Ah, there you go!" I said under my breath, handing Mr. Walters three envelopes with the titles to Mr or Mrs Johnson typed on the face of. He opened the mailbox and placed them inside. The old mailman gave me a grin, which I returned. He lift his hand up, and our hands clashed in a high-five.

"Only three more houses to go, and then it's Haribos time!" He exclaimed, getting on his segway again. Silvercrest had almost 200 habitants, and that was including the little kids or babies. So, there were only about 40 houses.  I shook my head disapprovingly at Walters.

"You're getting too old for Haribos," I chuckled. We continued along the road.

"You're never too old for a candy."

We repeated the same cycle of delivering mail. Me carrying and giving him the mail, him placing it in the mailbox, and the high-five in the end. On days where life didn't treat us as well as we would've liked, neither of us spoke or celebrated any of it.

"Poor Bea," I murmured, referring to his wife. He smiled at the mention of her, and waved me off. 

"She loves me no matter what, and no matter what shape I'm in," He patted his slightly sticking out belly.

For his age, Harry Walters wasn't a very huge. I mean, unlike the other 55 year old men, his stomach wasn't the size of a watermelon. And, I knew that no matter the amount of junk food he ate, he'd never get fat. Although, I still liked teasing him about his candy obsession even if he and I would share bags of candy every Friday.

After years of this routine, my mom had grown tired of scolding me, but she didn't really mind. It was all her fault for baking goodies. And, plus,  having a fast metabolism helped on not blowing up. Aside from home, my bike was always with me. I burned whatever ruined my body with ease.

As we slowed down in front of the Petersons', I glanced at the next and last house in confusion. A truck was placed in front of the house, and two men were carrying boxes in and out. This rang a bell, but I wasn't entirely certain.

"These the newbies?" I asked, taking a look at Walters.

He shrugged."Yeah, they were supposed to come a week ago, but they came this weekend. I thought you would've known," He explained, taking the mail from me and placing it in the box. A wide grin plastered itself on his face as he took something from the box. He showed me what was in his hands, getting a squeal out of me.