Honey, Have You Seen the Mailbox?

It was just beyond twilight as I headed out to get the mail. I usually walk across the street around noon which is when the mail gal usually comes, but I got busy and put it off. She must be dyslexic or the auto-sorter at the post office is, because we are forever getting mail with the numerals transposed. I walk down the road and swap mail during daylight hours which is the only time you want to be walking on our road. We’re situated on the only long straight-away of what is mostly a pretty curvy road. People just floor it, and I’ve seen young speedsters in small souped up cars passing one another at 60 plus miles an hour, and even a few 18 wheelers blasting down our little two lane road. The same road our dog got hit on, so I’m careful not to be added to the frequent batch of road kill from the evening drag races.
After looking both ways as good mothers everywhere advise, I crossed the road to find the mailbox missing and the ground littered with small cherry red fragments, part of a side mirror, and further down the road the lens from a tail light. I gathered the auto remains and eventually found the mailbox and 4x4 post across the ditch in some bushes.

An etiquette problem arose the next day when I saw one of my neighbors pulling out of their driveway in a brand new cherry red SUV with the side mirror and tail light missing. These are tribal folk, and while I have good relations with several of the families in the area, some Indians still hold a grudge about their forefathers and mothers treatment back when we were bringing “civilization” to the west. They would rather keep their distance and have the last laugh in the form of modern day reparations at the casino down the road. The guy with the SUV was decidedly in that camp.

I replaced the mailbox and waited a few days to see if he would come over to talk about it. Didn’t happen. I debated whether I should take the bag of car parts over to him saying, “hey neighbor, I found these, could they possibly be yours?” Do you broach the situation, or let sleeping dogs lie. I opted for the latter, and nothing has changed. He still doesn’t make eye contact, and I keep hoping he will. But if it happens again, I’ll create a mailbox fortress so impervious, it won’t be quite as kind to his shiny new car or the arm of that joyriding kid with the baseball bat.