A Struggle With Self

He stared out the window considering the letterbox at the end of his drive. Speculating as to its contents created in him an emotion, a desire, an uneasy feeling of sickness paired with exhilaration and motivation.
He brought his left arm to his chest to study the hands on his wrist watch – half past four. The mail courier would’ve certainly been by.
He remained seated, so long that his legs started to tire for want of mobility. Though to move only meant the inevitable: Information of conformation. He longed for feedback - a response he so utterly dreaded, an answer he prayed would come to pass, anything to confirm his continued domestic solitude or to assure his lifelong companionship.
A deep breath. Two.
We humans have a way with self- torment. The solutions, quick and certainly attainable, are prolonged and are replaced with our heated desires to ration, freeze, or in this case, wait.
Okay.
He slapped his hands down on each of knees and pushed downwards as he stood as if fighting a rouge ailment.
Another deep breath. And another.
He walked to the coat closet, secured his grey wool jacket and slid his left arm through and into the cool lining inside. The right arm followed. Buttoning the front, his mind was temporarily relived of his eminent task as he now recalled the heartache it was to get the large wooden buttons to press through what was assumed to be sewn-to-small button holes in his coat. The excitement of his mission extended this task.
Upon finishing he opened his front door and felt the cool spring air rush his face and hands. He reached into his jacket’s inner breast pocket and fingered for a cigarette followed by a book of matches. Failing never to take his eyes from the letterbox at the drive’s end he set the cigarette on his bottom lip and paused.
Gratitude. Uneasiness. Fluttering. Uncertainty.
He opened the book of matches and with a flick lit the cigarette in his mouth.
He started the walk down the drive to the aluminum letterbox on the avenue’s shoulder. Save for a single dog barking in the distance the only sound that accompanied him was those of shoes crunching the white gravel of his drive.
It had been a single week since he had written his letter of proposal. Though the reader may claim a week is no period by which to wait in apprehension you’ll be surprised to know that our gentlemen has considered all elements of his situation mathematically… The time it would take for his letter to be picked up, delivered, read, thought-out, answered, torn-up, re-answered, placed upon a dresser for contemplation, final delivery, and of course pick-up.
Having made a course of forty paces or so he stopped on the avenue-side just opposite the letterbox. It sat, jeering at him atop tar-cured wooden post he had made from a retired railway tie. He glanced to his left. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and inhaled sharply before studying the right for oncoming automobiles. Though none came he still felt it a requirement to trot to the opposite side of the roadway.
He placed his right hand on the letterbox’s small cold handle and inhaled the crisp air until his lungs could hold no more. He extinguished his cigarette with his left hand by tossing it to the ground and smoothing it with his shoe.
Deep breath. Two. Three. Pause.
The letter box door opened. A letter visible amongst statements and routine publications.
He reached his left hand into the cool compartment and with his index and middle finger secured and pulled gently on the envelope’s corner. Turned over and around he warmed at the return name and address.
Hesitant to wait no longer he slid his right-hand thumb into the envelope’s rear partial opening and tore slowly so as not to damage its contents.
He smelt the paper and the pen ink. He felt the electricity of the words prior to his unfolding of the note. He turned in around and first glanced at the date confirming his mathematical forecast.
Deep breath following by another short one.
He began to read.
Soon thereafter he carefully refolded the note with the skill of an origami artist and replaced it in the envelope.
He placed his elbow on the top of the letterbox, leaned and paused for a final deep breath.