Excerpt from my work in progress: “Imperfect Society”…Let me know what you think

Chapter 5: Wonderland

 

The post-modern post office sat on the nearly vacant street of Sherman and 11^th Street, its grey and red bricks blended a contrast that would appeal to any uninterested passerby.  That’s how Panama City was.  A person could think there was not much to see there, and then “surprise!”  Around the corner on 11^th Street was a gas station – greasy chicken spot – taxi dispatch operation.  Adjacent to that establishment was a beautiful apartment complex with swimming pools that was willing to work with any resident as long as they worked with them in accordance to credit and character checks.  It exuded elegance.  Meanwhile, less than a mile away, anyone who knew anything about “that life” knew that drug dealers lived in every other residence.  So here sat the post office, gleaming its glory before a driver would turn up north on 15^th Street to other astounding buildings of businesses that announced Panama City was proud and had nothing to be ashamed of.

On the inside I felt I was not dressed in the right attire.  Instead of sunglasses, a wig, a crappy hat, and a hoodie in rememberence of the Unibomber, I was in average gear.  My hair was pinned back, my sneakers were pink and grey, and my short jogging suit matched.  In actuality, I stood out in a place where many of my relatives who were my peers owned stilettos suitable for grocery shopping.  Anyway, although I had not run one yard, the perspiration made it seem as if I just finished a marathon.  I pumped some albuterol and breathed deeply, which did not help with the nerves.  This was going to be one of those days, I could just feel it.  My fingers trembled as they fumbled with the key to open the box.  It clicked and turned, all the while my hopes were to see some sign when the door would open.  It had been months since I had heard anything from him; hence I really felt more alone in the world day by day.  There probably were only few who could identify with this constant and uneasy rattling of life.

There.  There, it was nothing.  Nothing was in that P.O. box.  What could I have expected?  I was the one who told him it would be asinine to send a thing.  Leaving the marvel of government architecture, I rechecked the directions that Dr. Reyes/James sent me on my phone.  As I sat, I methodically programmed the GPS to his place, knowing full well how to get there by heart.  I pinched the skin of my hand to stop the body from producing tears, or even to anticipate this trip.