Damaged in Transit

The letter had unexpectedly arrived dirty, stained and dry water wrinkly. Mixed in with her routine stack of monthly bills, grocery store advertisements and February’s traditional onslaught of Presidents day white sales. Only moments ago taking the mail out of the box she was thinking how much this months electric bill might be after such a warm winter when she discovered his letter in the mix.  The postmark and stamp were smeared with a dark greasy residue of unknown origin and the right bottom edge pinched to the point of almost cut off. Her hands trembled upon seeing the return address and APO number beneath his name and it was all she could do to maintain her balance before quickly slumping to the left side of the mailbox to keep from falling. A white sticker covered the bottom of the letter explained “ Damaged in Transit.” Feeling as if all the wind had been knocked out her she dropped the rest of the mail onto the driveway before slowly proceeding back to the house and finally settling into a kitchen chair holding the letter in one hand while patting her heart with the other. Once down and off her feet she held the letter out at arms length and just stared ahead in total silence. The vaguely readable postmark was dated nineteen seventy-one. Chummily, her golden retriever lifted his head from his resting place beside the couch and moved closer to her instinctively knowing that something was wrong. Resting the letter on her lap and reaching down to pat the dog’s head she turned to look out the window. An American flag displayed in the front yard gently swayed in unusually warm winter breezes as the faded gold star in the entrance window of her home fell beneath its shadow