#connor human

Connor sat nervous and excited at the foot of the stairs that led up to the large and lavish home. There was a chill in the air that seemed to chime directly through the young man’s bones. The first morning snow twinkled with all the new days expectations, and seemed to wink at Connor with poise, as if to say, today was going to be something special. The faint sound of neighbor’s dogs barking and buses on their routes to pick up children for school were a compliment to the absence of sound belonging to the light falling snowflakes.

Connor’s breath became unsteady with anticipation as his deep brown eyes wandered from one end of the road to the other, uncertain of which route his postman was scheduled to take. “It’s expected delivery date is today, and the mail is set to arrive between 8:00 AM and 8:30 AM”. The nervous young man assured himself with a loud and clear voice, cutting though the peaceful ambiance surrounding him. With the flick of his wrist, he checked the time displayed in large digital numbers on his watch, shining sleek silver in the reflection of the snow’s captured sunlight. The time read “8:29 AM”.

“They’ve only got one minute left”. He sighed and retreated his arm back beneath his chest as he curled forward in response to the freezing breeze that phased through his body. Covering his wrist watch again with the fabric of his thick, blue coat, he huddled his shoulders around his neck in an attempt to condition himself to stay and wait a bit longer.

Soon the distant sound of a truck caught Connor’s attention. As he heard the crunch of snow and ice beneath heavy tires draw closer, he averted his attention to the source of the increasingly intruding noise. It was the local mail truck. Finally, it had come. The impatient young man’s immediate reaction was to roll up his sleeve, once again, to check his watch. “Two minutes late”. His attention fumbled quickly and awkwardly between his watch and the approaching mail truck in a rhythmic pattern. Finally deciding on a perspective, Connor bellowed “Ah, who cares?” as he flung his arm down to his side, forgetting and forgiving the late postal delivery in favor of the excitement of receiving his package. He sprinted toward the mail truck that was now parked in his driveway, with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.

“Hello!” He directed his enthusiasm at the postman exiting the truck. “I’m Connor, the one who lives here, and I’m expecting a package today”. Tilting his head down and cocking both eyebrows up, as if expecting an immediate reaction in his favor, Connor waited for an answer, “You’re in luck, kid”, the older man replied in a deep raspy voice, extending a clipboard out to meet Connor’s surprise.

Eyebrows raised and breath held steady, Connor slowly reached for the parchment offered to him. Removing it from the postman’s grip and acquiring it for his own, Connor stood, eyes wide, in ironic disbelief. He had anticipated and prepared for this very moment for three full weeks, yet the realization of this reality became difficult to conceive as he pulled a pen from his loose coat pocket.  

Signing his name in perfectly constructed print, Connor’s eyes trailed from his signature to the back compartment of the large steel framed mail truck, as the postman collected the clipboard, plying the signature forms from the young man’s nervously tight grip. Connor studied the postman’s stride as he made his way around to the rear of the vehicle. As the older man opened the doors to the storage compartment, The eager young man, filled with newly refreshed excitement followed his trail as a dog would his owner. Before he knew it, Connor found himself standing at the back of the truck in awe, gazing upon all of the undelivered packages ranging in size and shape. Before the postman could reach into the mess of undistributed mail, Connor questioned, “Which one is mine?” Attempting to hide his fresh annoyance with the young man’s lack of personal boundaries, the postman drew a smile and turned his head to meet Connor, who still stood shocked, glancing up at the packages, mouth gaping.    

“This large one in front belongs to you, son” The polite postman grimaced, pointing to a tall and wide brown box. Before he had a chance to utter another word, he was cut off by the clatter of Connor’s shoes against the metallic truck bed. Jumping up into the flurry of fragile packages, Connor was no longer able to keep his excitement under control. He wrapped his arms around the package, squirming and yelling, “Your Finally here!”, much to the dismay of the postman’s ever growing impatiences. “Be careful around the other packages!” the man warned, “Come on back down from there and I’ll help you move it.” he continued. Turning his head to the postman’s erupting shouts, Connor headed the warning, frantically searching his footing to be sure he hadn’t crushed any fragile packages in his overzealous display of affection for his new item.