Birds chirped. A hint of lilacs wafted by on the soft breeze as Ginny stood stock still on the porch with her unopened mail in her hands. If not for the frozen minute capillaries in her skin she might have crumbled
as her bones turned to dust and her organs disintegrated.
A butterfly glided by noticed though had Ethel looked through the front door side panes at that second would not have detected anything amiss. It all happened in less time than a flutter of the ornate yellow and black wing.
Ginny unconscious to what transpired save an almost imperceptible sense of a moment of discomfort. Her mind most aware of what occurred did what minds do, applied blame. The logical culprit; picking up the mail.
The next morning Ethel greeted the mailman with her usual cheery, “Mornin’ looks like anoth’r fine day.” The man agreed handed the day’s post off and with a wave whistled down the walk. She stacked the letters neatly on the front hall table.
Several minutes later Ginny on her way to the kitchen spied the stack and flinched. Odd she vaguely noted. “Ethel, what’s that expression you use when you quake for no reason?”
The maid looked up blank for a minute then said, “You mean somebody done walked on yo’ grave? Is dat what you is thinkin’ o’?”
“Yes, that’s it! Why did I come in here?”
“Lord, Miz Ginny I ain’t got no idea.”
“Oh, I know would you get a list together? I’m going to the store,” with that she turned back into the hall. Picking the mail off the table, she started to look through it as if expecting bad news.
Later in the week, Ethel asked if Ginny would like another cup of coffee on the porch. “Is such a beautiful day.”
Ginny agreed. As she pushed open the screen door, she saw the postman rounding the corner, “On second thought I think I don’t want another.” She allowed the door to bang after her as she hustled upstairs to her bedroom.
By the end of the next week, Ginny became aware that she felt anxious in the mornings. After a month had gone by, she found herself unable to deal with the mail. As she sat a
ll a flutter at her desk a stack of unopened envelopes spilled out in front of her. What is the matter with me?
She struggled to make herself pick up the letter opener. I must be losing my mind. “Stop this Virginia Mackey right now.” No manner of bullying made her perform the necessary task.
Alarmed she watched as the opener quaked in her clenched hand. “This is absurd.” She opened her hand and let the silver implement slide out.
What are Joe and Stuart always going on about? Something about the mind? She leaned back in her chair, glowered at the stack of bills and letters on her desk and tried to remember what the two of them had said about controlling your mind. You control it, or it will control you. That was it, but how exactly do I go about that?
Finally, after much huffing and puffing, she overcame her pride and called Stuart. “Hi, honey. I’m surprised I got you but relieved. Are you busy? Could you give me a quick reminder? How did you say you go about controlling your mind?”