The Long Wait
by Kent Rosenberger
“Is this line going anywhere? We’ve been waiting here for I don’t know how long!”
Several others in the back began to grumble in agreement. Everybody’s patience was beginning to wear thin, but up until now the collective attitude was that they would begin moving again any minute. It took this one individual vocalizing a personal breaking point to begin a domino effect of gripes and groans.
“I believe,” another one suggested in a consoling tone, “perhaps discussing our personal destinations would make our downtime go much quicker. I’m headed to my grandson’s birthday party.”
The one in the front of the line turned around. “Really? How old is he?”
“He’ll be seven.”
“Seven. Oh, that’s a fun age. Where does he live?”
“Baton Rouge.”
“My, you have a long trip ahead of you.”
“Yes, I’m really looking forward to it. And where are you going?”
“Wedding invitation to Boston. A couple of college friends.”
“Ah, young love. That sounds so exciting.”
The one who started the commotion kept a sour demeanor. “We’re not going anywhere until this confounded line starts moving again! I’m on a schedule.”
“And exactly where are you headed?”
“I’m on official business, the nature of which I am not at liberty to discuss. It’s much more important than a simple birthday party for a child.”
“Military?” The question was asked half in jest, but from the reaction it got it was evident there was some truth in the guess. “Oh, come on, you can tell us. We won’t say anything.”
“Sorry. No can do. Top secret.”
“Top secret? Oh, now I’m really intrigued.”
“Top secret, confidential and late!” That last word was directed to the closed gate at the front of the line.
“I’m sure the holdup is only temporary,” reassured the Boston-bound.
“Temporary or not, my information is time-sensitive. Even five minutes delay could mean…”
“Could mean what?” Everyone was suddenly paying attention to the self-important noisemaker.
“Nothing. Never mind.” In attempt to shift the spotlight, the subject was changed quickly. “You there, in the back. Where are you off to?”
“Um…convention. Minneapolis.”
“Hmm, big business. I suppose you have a corporate secret or two you don’t want to reveal about your trip, don’t you?”
“Not at all. I’ve got a one-week itinerary for the housewares and appliance show for the new year. It’s not exciting, and it’s certainly not a secret.”
So much for the first diversion tactic. Perhaps a second would succeed. “And you in the gray. What’s your destination?”
The individual in question seemed reluctant to answer, but eventually did so somberly. “I…I’m with a collections agency. Foreclosure on a farm in Nebraska.” The tension in the crows increased slightly. Suddenly the ‘top secret’ concept lost its luster, replaced by communal animosity toward this enemy of the people. “Hey, it’s not my fault if they don’t pay their bills. I’m just doing my job.”
“It’s not a very nice job.”
“Hey, the world can’t always be a birthday party, lady.”
“Well, I never…!”
Unruliness began to circulate, centering around the collector, much to the noisemaker’s delight, when a metallic clattering drew everyone’s awareness to the front of the line once again.
The barrier before them was rising, and beyond it, their ultimate destinies lay.
“We’re moving again.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Minnesota, here I come.”
In front of them, machinery whined as the queue paced forward in an orderly fashion.
“So what happens to them all? The blue-uniformed rookie wanted to know as he helped his trainer with the half-full sack. The basement room was ill-lit and scattered with papers and envelopes of all shapes and sizes.
“No postage, no return addresses, bad addresses, illegibility…not much we can do. Undeliverable. They all end up here. The Dead Letter Office.”
The rookie rifled through the load he and his superior just dumped and pulled out a square-shaped blue envelope with a greeting card logo above the seal on the back. He flipped it over and read the name on it. “Looks like little Billy won’t be getting his birthday card.” He shook it next to his ear. “I think there’s a check sliding around in there.”
The supervisor shook his head. “Too bad. We can’t open it. It’s illegal.” He pressed a button on the wall.
The rookie tossed the card back in with the others as the bin moved forward toward and ominous opening at the far end of the wall. “So what do we do with them?”
His answer came as huge orange flames erupted from the belly of the incinerator. The bin dumped forward, emptying its contents into the heart of the blaze. All the confidential and cordial information contained in the rejected pieces of mismarked mail was instantly engulfed by the licking tongues of fire, forever lost.
“Burn them,” the supervisor smiled.
- - -
My name is Kent Rosenberger, and I am the author of four novels, five short story collections, over 1700 poems, and other assorted items of interest. I am a writer in search of a serious publisher. My work can be found recently in such online magazines as 365 Tomorrows, The Absent Willow Review, Aphelion, The Digital Dragon and Orion’s Child. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading The Long Wait as much as I enjoyed writing it, and hope you will consider it for publication in Weird Year. I look forward to hearing from you soon.
by Kent Rosenberger
“Is this line going anywhere? We’ve been waiting here for I don’t know how long!”
Several others in the back began to grumble in agreement. Everybody’s patience was beginning to wear thin, but up until now the collective attitude was that they would begin moving again any minute. It took this one individual vocalizing a personal breaking point to begin a domino effect of gripes and groans.
“I believe,” another one suggested in a consoling tone, “perhaps discussing our personal destinations would make our downtime go much quicker. I’m headed to my grandson’s birthday party.”
The one in the front of the line turned around. “Really? How old is he?”
“He’ll be seven.”
“Seven. Oh, that’s a fun age. Where does he live?”
“Baton Rouge.”
“My, you have a long trip ahead of you.”
“Yes, I’m really looking forward to it. And where are you going?”
“Wedding invitation to Boston. A couple of college friends.”
“Ah, young love. That sounds so exciting.”
The one who started the commotion kept a sour demeanor. “We’re not going anywhere until this confounded line starts moving again! I’m on a schedule.”
“And exactly where are you headed?”
“I’m on official business, the nature of which I am not at liberty to discuss. It’s much more important than a simple birthday party for a child.”
“Military?” The question was asked half in jest, but from the reaction it got it was evident there was some truth in the guess. “Oh, come on, you can tell us. We won’t say anything.”
“Sorry. No can do. Top secret.”
“Top secret? Oh, now I’m really intrigued.”
“Top secret, confidential and late!” That last word was directed to the closed gate at the front of the line.
“I’m sure the holdup is only temporary,” reassured the Boston-bound.
“Temporary or not, my information is time-sensitive. Even five minutes delay could mean…”
“Could mean what?” Everyone was suddenly paying attention to the self-important noisemaker.
“Nothing. Never mind.” In attempt to shift the spotlight, the subject was changed quickly. “You there, in the back. Where are you off to?”
“Um…convention. Minneapolis.”
“Hmm, big business. I suppose you have a corporate secret or two you don’t want to reveal about your trip, don’t you?”
“Not at all. I’ve got a one-week itinerary for the housewares and appliance show for the new year. It’s not exciting, and it’s certainly not a secret.”
So much for the first diversion tactic. Perhaps a second would succeed. “And you in the gray. What’s your destination?”
The individual in question seemed reluctant to answer, but eventually did so somberly. “I…I’m with a collections agency. Foreclosure on a farm in Nebraska.” The tension in the crows increased slightly. Suddenly the ‘top secret’ concept lost its luster, replaced by communal animosity toward this enemy of the people. “Hey, it’s not my fault if they don’t pay their bills. I’m just doing my job.”
“It’s not a very nice job.”
“Hey, the world can’t always be a birthday party, lady.”
“Well, I never…!”
Unruliness began to circulate, centering around the collector, much to the noisemaker’s delight, when a metallic clattering drew everyone’s awareness to the front of the line once again.
The barrier before them was rising, and beyond it, their ultimate destinies lay.
“We’re moving again.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Minnesota, here I come.”
In front of them, machinery whined as the queue paced forward in an orderly fashion.
“So what happens to them all? The blue-uniformed rookie wanted to know as he helped his trainer with the half-full sack. The basement room was ill-lit and scattered with papers and envelopes of all shapes and sizes.
“No postage, no return addresses, bad addresses, illegibility…not much we can do. Undeliverable. They all end up here. The Dead Letter Office.”
The rookie rifled through the load he and his superior just dumped and pulled out a square-shaped blue envelope with a greeting card logo above the seal on the back. He flipped it over and read the name on it. “Looks like little Billy won’t be getting his birthday card.” He shook it next to his ear. “I think there’s a check sliding around in there.”
The supervisor shook his head. “Too bad. We can’t open it. It’s illegal.” He pressed a button on the wall.
The rookie tossed the card back in with the others as the bin moved forward toward and ominous opening at the far end of the wall. “So what do we do with them?”
His answer came as huge orange flames erupted from the belly of the incinerator. The bin dumped forward, emptying its contents into the heart of the blaze. All the confidential and cordial information contained in the rejected pieces of mismarked mail was instantly engulfed by the licking tongues of fire, forever lost.
“Burn them,” the supervisor smiled.
- - -
My name is Kent Rosenberger, and I am the author of four novels, five short story collections, over 1700 poems, and other assorted items of interest. I am a writer in search of a serious publisher. My work can be found recently in such online magazines as 365 Tomorrows, The Absent Willow Review, Aphelion, The Digital Dragon and Orion’s Child. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading The Long Wait as much as I enjoyed writing it, and hope you will consider it for publication in Weird Year. I look forward to hearing from you soon.
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