Fail Mail

Feeling tired and particularly imaginative after a late-night walk, I am waiting for the elevator. In 2 AM silence, my 70's building resembles one of ghosts. I hear nothing but elevator wires and cars rushing in a boulevard close by. As dense mystery fills the hallways my gaze travels from the stairway, the dirty floor, the high ceiling… The mailbox. Have I gotten any mail? I reach for the mailbox key in my pocket. I don’t have it with me… But, by this time, curiosity has conquered me, invading and almost itching my brain. Many buildings have broken mailboxes in my neighborhood. Is this how they get attacked? Some are even burnt.

Hm. Just a peek, please. I slide a finger through the mail slot but it bites me. The slot is not wide enough for my finger and to leave room for me to see what’s going on inside. As I pull my finger out I spot a fast food flier on the floor. I reach down for the flier and open the evil mail slot with it. I use the thin flier to keep the slot open, giving me enough eye space to peek inside. Hah, we've tricked the system.

The mission's final step - the actual peeking in through the opening - all of a sudden makes me nervous. But, I can do it. I slowly, cautiously, lean my face towards the mailbox. If only someone saw me… My eyes anxiously look for the opening. Aha, there it is... With my right eye targeting the opening, I close my left eye and make the deciding leap towards my goal.

What?! Another wide-open eye is staring back at me!! I gasp and jump away, manically grab the door of the elevator that had arrived so long ago, run inside and hit the 3 button, anticipating safety on my floor. With an obnoxious heartbeat and weak shaky footsteps, I make it to the door. I use two wrong keys before unlocking the door, get in, slam, lock well. I take my shoes off and crawl into bed. Fall asleep, fall asleep. What was that?? Fall asleep, please... If only I knew whose eye that was.

Alas, I did fall asleep and wake up rather late, completely numbed. I had forgotten all about the mail slot, my bizarre thoughts, and the even more bizarre eye. I was eating my breakfast eggs, sipping on freshly squeezed orange juice, when my mom came in from the market and dropped the mail on the dining table. There it was! That creepy stubborn unblinking eye was looking at me again! It was the eye of a pretty woman whose face was used for a flier marketing a newly opened hair salon down the street. Trashy little salon flier, you’ve scared me and questioned my sanity.

I used to play this game every day. It made sense to play the game. I’d peak through the slot and discover letters and postcards, all sorts of hellos from real people. Family, friends, crushes, encounters, travel companions. It seems not that long ago even... Yes, my finger was small enough to open the slot and still leave some space to see what was inside, but apart from that, little has changed. The elevator is the same; its rusty wires remain unchanged. Even the wall paint is still the same. In a city like Belgrade, still largely guarded from globalization and development, the past haunts you. On awkward nights like these you may very well loose yourself. You forget that the only greetings awaiting in your mailbox nowadays are those from corporations and government institutions. Fliers; bills; and a notice or citation here and there.