Nothing made sense to her. Every number she was looking at had no value in her mind. She couldn't remember the rules for positives and negatives. Which variable was she solving for again? How did the final answer need to be written? She didn't know. She didn't remember. Not one single bit.
      The money she had paid to attend that tutoring session was poorly wasted. Everything her tutor said just didn't stay in her mind. It came in through one ear, but it didn't go out the other like it does for most people. Instead, it faded away slowly-- the information she had learned at the session broke and couldn't be mended back together.
     Out of frustration, Alice ruffled her hair, tugging against the roots lightly. She pouted and bit her tongue forcefully as a self served punishment. Her arms sat crossed against her chest as she began to intently stare at her textbook in front of her, hoping that the number values would make sense.
     But suddenly, the door bell rang. Alice jumped in her seat, got up after glancing at her homework once, and carefully walked towards her front door.
     "Good afternoon," the mailman said after Alice opened the door, hiding half her body behind the large wooden structure.
     "Ah, yes. Good afternoon," Alice bowed her head politely, flustering after realizing it was only the mailman at the door. But normally she would just have to pick up her bills at the mailbox down the street. Why would he be hand-delivering something? Alice didn't remember ordering anything online. She didn't know anyone who knew her address, so what could the mailman want?
     The mailman outstretched his arm and clenched in his hands was a yellow manila folder encased in a plastic bag. He firmly jut it forward and Alice looked at it with curiosity, only to accept it in the end after a brief moment of hesitation.
     "Is this mine?" Alice asked, looking up at the mailman with confusion. She held the bag close to her and felt something in the manila folder.
     The mailman only nodded, tipped his hat, and drove off in his truck in a matter of seconds, leaving Alice with the manila envelope.  

     Back at her desk, Alice folded her textbook and set it on the shelf. She set her papers in a notebook and zipped up her pencil pouch. She laid the bag and envelope right in the middle of her cleared desk, staring at it intently. She poked at it and flipped it over, surprisingly to find a small note card on the envelope. Alice flattened the plastic of the bag to clearly read what the note said,

     "The carrier of your mail was involved in a Motor Vehicle accident. Due to this event, your mail came in to physical contact with blood. The Mailing Center could not dispose of the tarnished mail, as it is against the law. Thus we have sent it to you. We are deeply sorry and bow our heads for any inconvenience."

     Suddenly, Alice froze and fell backwards to hit the back of her chair. Blood. Blood? Her mail came into contact with blood? Someone actually got hurt that badly to have the post office be sorry they got blood on her mail? Whose blood? Why?
     These questions bothered her, in fact, the whole predicament bothered her. Blood on her mail? She didn't even want to think about it. Instead, Alice went back to studying. But she couldn't even concentrate. Not with knowing that someone got hurt so much as to have their blood stain her mail.
     The next morning, the mailman was putting the mail in the mailbox and Alice was watching him. She slumped against a cold light pole and stuffed her cracking fingers in her sweater. Christmas was coming and it was getting colder every day.
     She nearly forgot what she was going to talk to the mailman about. Good thing she remembered before he left.
     Alice stopped fiddling with the cracks in her knuckles and called after the mailman.
     "Mailman! Mailman!" she exclaimed, rushing over to the man's side. He was tall and lanky, probably in his late or middle thirties. He was fit and most likely took care of himself, probably because he was married. Alice could see his shining wedding ring. She also could tell that he was quite friendly, noticing that his aura was almost as bright as his shining ring. 
      "Ah, hello. You're Miss Yoo, right?" the mailman smiled. Alice nodded her head in confirmation. The mailman just nodded and went back to putting the mail in the correct slots. As he was doing that, Alice was asking questions

     "Mailman, who used to regularly deliver my mail?" she asked nicely, almost like a child. The girl was twenty years old-- you would think that she could figure it out herself or have other things to do than worry about her previous mailman.      "Just call me Mr. Cho, Miss Yoo. And you're asking who used to?" he clarified, zipping up his blue bag and adjusting it after he locked the mail cabinets.       "Yes," Alice nodded her head politely, "who was my old mailman before you, Mr.Cho?" Mr.Cho hesitated a bit, his face turning cold and his movements freezing, and not because of how cold the air was hitting the two. The rustling of the trees took over the short silence before Mr.Cho replied,       "His name was Mark. He was a young man-- a new worker in fact, straight out of college with a major in Mathematics and Statistics. I don't know why he'd choose to be a mailman when he could find a job that makes more money-- heck, I heard he was asked to become an actuary by this one big company in Seoul, but he turned that down and came here instead. Actuaries make much more money than mailmen do," When Mr.Cho was finished with his rant, he took a deep sigh and scratched his head. Soon after, his friendly face appeared once more. Alice stared blankly at him. Every time someone talks to Alice, she has a hard time remembering the things they said. Thus, she creates small summaries of compact information for her to stow away in her brain and try to remember if she ever needs to.       Mr.Cho is a friendly man, she summarized, but his only problem is that his wife spends too much of his money on frivolous things.             After getting more information about Mark from the post office, Alice learned that he was staying at the only intensive care unit in their county. It was a small place, only about two stories tall, since there weren't too many accidents happening ever in that part of area. The number of injuries was even smaller during the holidays.       The ICU smelled of sterilization and mint. It was more of a "medicinal mint" to Alice, perhaps more closely related to menthol. Whatever it was, it struck Alice with great interest. The young woman hadn't even been in an ICU before, if she could remember properly, but the scent seemed so familiar to her.       Doctors and nurses were walking around, holding clipboards and chatting about patients. Some other nurses were carrying baskets lined with blue paper and syringes and tubes in them. Others, who were not wearing turquoise uniforms from head to toe or white scrubs, were sitting in the rest area, most likely wanting to see their injured family member or friend. An old woman was sitting with a younger woman, both bouncing their knees and biting their cheeks. A young boy, an older boy, and their mother were sitting in the corner, reserved to themselves as the young boy and mom slept while the older boy was on his cellphone, the light from the device reflecting from his dark eyes.       Alice observed the sight quietly, just standing there for a second, taking it all in. The room was filled with an atmosphere of anxiousness and fright, but at the same time, hope and serenity.       Taking a long breath of the menthol smell, Alice strode up to the counter. There was a woman with dark circles under her eyes, but she still smiled once she saw Alice.      "Hell