The weeks flew by as weeks often do. The way that time always seems to move toward an unwelcome event. No matter how hard you try to savor the remaining days. It’s a fact of human nature that cannot be reversed. If you want something, on the other hand, it never seems to arrive.
Tom had been waiting everyday for the mail to arrive. Joe’s last chance was riding on the efficiency of the United States Postal Service.
“Neither rain nor sleet, nor snow can keep them from their appointed rounds. It was one scary thought,” he reflected.
It was twelve noon and there didn’t seem to be anyone at the mountain. Yesterday was the final day of the season for the Basin. A wooden sign with a red lettering was stuck in the mud of the parking lot, a prelude to the Mud Season to come, it read CLOSED.
Joe was on his way into town. The papers were to be signed at two P.M. that day to transfer ownership as quickly as possible, or risk going into default. Keystone’s Parent Company was quite agreeable to sign at a moment's notice. They had been poised to strike for a long time. Now that the Mountain Crown was about to be put on their heads, they were more than happy to accommodate Joe’s wishes.
Tom sat down on the steps and crossed his arms over his knees. He looked at his watch and it was twelve-fifteen.
“Come on Jake,” he said, tapping his hiking boots impatiently.
Right on cue the mail truck came into view. Jake sped up the highway and pulled into the empty lot. He came to a halt in front of the stairs. Sliding out, he pulled a large bundle of letters from his sack.
“Nothing but bills today, I’m afraid.”
Tom slumped like the wind had been knocked from him. Jake knew that he had been waiting for an important letter from back East.
“Damn I thought he would come through.” Tom shuffled through the pile. He was hoping he had missed something. Jake climbed back into the truck and drove away. Tom tossed the envelopes carelessly on to the steps. Defeated, he sat down. He desperately wanted to save the day for Joe, to rush in triumphantly just as they were about to sign the papers and declare victory. It was the image he had focused on in his mind. If you can see something happen and believe in it strongly, it will come true. It was the way Tom lived his life. He believed in everything he did.
A white station wagon pulled off the road and into the lot, it stopped by the sign. He took no notice of it and stood up to stretch his legs. The car started forward and stopped next to him. He walked down the stairs to see what the driver wanted.
“I’m looking for Tom Dillon,” the man stuck his head out the window.
“You found him.”
The man reached over the seat and grabbed a large manila envelope. He handed it to Tom.
“Sign here,” he said.
Tom signed the paper on the clipboard and took the envelope.
“This is it! This is it!,” he danced up and down. “Thanks, Thanks,” he pumped the man’s hand.
“Anytime,” he smiled, shaking his head as he drove away.
Tom’s hands trembled with excitement as he ripped open the folder. He had to be sure it was the right thing. There it was in black and white, the most beautiful document he had ever seen.
He ran to the road and stuck out his thumb.
“It looks like the Calvary is coming to the rescue, after all.”
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