I have never been more excited to visit a post office, except when I was actually receiving mail. Instead, I was there to drop off the last of Carter’s belongings, shipping them across country to his family. As I stood in line waiting for the next attendant, a pamphlet caught my eye from across the room. In a bold yellow font, the title of it read “LOST YOUR PACKAGE? WE’RE HERE TO HELP.” Although the pamphlet itself seemed tacky, with the picture of a WASP smiling ear-to-ear on the cover, it made me wonder what would exactly happen if the package I sent got lost.

The medium-sized box contained mainly bobble heads and baseball cards, neatly wrapped in bubble wrap to preserve its condition. Carter always had a strange fascination with America, more than most Americans. He collected everything from merchandise of America’s favorite past-time, to those Coca-Cola cans with random names embellished on the side of them. The last thing he had bought was a FunkoPop of Ronald McDonald, saying that was “peak-America”. For someone so patriotic, I was surprised to see that his blood wasn’t also white and blue when I found his body.

When the person you’ve been dating for only 6 months kills themselves, it may seem like a mystery. I thought to myself that I should’ve seen it coming, but how could I? We only knew each other for half a year, less if you calculate the time we actually spent together. Whenever we were together, talking was at a minimum. Our hands spoke for us instead, trailing the natural curves and bends of our bodies. Still, I immediately figured out Carter’s America fascination after two visits to his downtown apartment. His baseball bobbleheads were taped down to the top of his oak headboard, as they shook their heads at us during sex. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve figured that Carter only had weekly sex with me so he could have the eyes of something other than his bobbleheads witnessing him.

The thought of losing Carter’s package stuck in my head. If it went missing during transit, would I be to blame? I did my due diligence, neatly placing the address of his family, 247 Moth Lane, on the smack middle of the box, in addition to waiting in line at the post office to ship it. I did what could be done, which was more than what his family did. A week after Carter passed, his workplace arranged a funeral service to be held for him. I showed up, along with a couple of his work colleagues and schoolmates, except for his family. There was not one person actually related to Carter there, with an arrangement of poppies and chrysanthemums being sent in their place. In a way, I relished in the fact that I was the only one there who seemed to really know Carter, minus his suicide.

When I finally reached the post office attendant, I stuck out my hand to give her the package, but something inside me pulled it back.

“Is there a problem sir?”

“No, not at all. I just don’t want to lose this package.”

I turned around and walked out the doors of the post office.