6/13/10

Feet
By Victoria Vasterling

The box is full now; she picks it up and takes it to her car. She writes him a note and places it inside. The drive to the post office is long, and gives her time to think about him. When she gets there, she waits in line for over half an hour. Then the man behind the counter hassles her with forms to fill out. “I just want to send a package to my husband. Why does that have to be SO difficult? They should make it easier, he’s serving our country for Christ’s sake!” she thinks to herself. But, to the man she is polite. She lets him tell her what all she did wrong with her package.

When he was home she would buy his socks for him and put them away in the drawer, she could show him her new slippers instead of sending him a picture. They would eat candy together, instead of watching each other on a webcam. When he was home, she could do his laundry for him and rub his feet. Now he tells her he is constantly covered with the grit and sand of his country. Now her shoulders ache from lack of his hands kneading her knots. Suddenly she feels lost without him.

If it weren’t for the war, she would buy her own socks that would keep her warm at night, instead of spending money on socks for him. Socks he needs because his feet are destroyed by sand and heat and sweat. But if he were home, he would be keeping her warm. And his feet would be fine. She wants to put herself in the package. Instead, she smiles at the man behind the counter, who has not a clue what an irritation he has started.


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My name is Victoria Vasterling. I am currently going to school at Concordia University,St. Paul MN, studying to major in English and minor in writing.