Favorite Things

“You got a package. I put it on your bed.”

This was the greeting Jamie received upon entering the apartment he shared with two other randomly assigned university students. It was October and classes were in full swing. The work was difficult and there was little time for socializing. But as an introvert, that suited Jamie just fine. He went to his room and closed the door. The package was sitting on the bed as advertised. It was wrapped in brown paper, so plain it made him suspicious. He didn’t recall ordering anything and there was no return address.

Growing up, Jamie had been the target of bullies vicious pranks. He worried that his reputation as a victim might have followed him to college. Anyone could have located his school address through a simple internet search if so inclined. He started to worry about what was inside the box. Upon closer examination he saw that the brown paper was darker in one corner. It was wet. Jesus Christ, he thought, It’s leaking! He backed out of the room and went to get some paper towels from the kitchen. There he spotted Mark, the one who had told him about the package.

“Hey, Mark,” he asked tentatively, “Did you happen to notice that the package is leaking?”

Mark looked up from his bag of chips. “Naw, man. That’s weird.”

Jamie went back to his room and stared at the package again. He used the paper towels to pick it up and noticed it wasn’t very heavy. He shook it gently. The stuff inside made a quiet shuffling sound that didn’t offer much of a clue. After another moment’s consideration, he went back to the kitchen, opened the trash can and dropped it inside.

“Hey, what’d you do that for? You’re gonna just throw it away without opening it?” Mark came up behind him watching quizzically.

“I just don’t know what it is and it makes me nervous.”

“I’ll open it then.” Mark stuffed one last chip into his mouth and dusted off his hands. Then he pulled the box out of the trash. Jamie cringed, worried that the contents of the box would embarrass him.

With a total disregard for cross contamination, Mark set the box on the counter and pulled a knife from the butcher block to cut it open. “Ah ha,” he said, prying back the cardboard flaps and pulling out the remnants of a melted ice cream sandwich. “Nothing dangerous, just a bunch of junk.” He tilted the box for Jamie to examine the contents: a handful of Uno cards, a container of fish food, post-it notes, and an old washcloth. Everything was soiled by the melted vanilla ice cream. Who sent this stuff and what did it mean?

“You got a goldfish I don’t know about?”

“No.” Jamie just stared into the open box.

“Maybe it’s one of those care packages from home. Sean gets those all the time. His mom makes cookies.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Jamie sat on the couch and started scrolling Netflix, anything to keep his thoughts from wandering back home to the way things were when he left. Coming out stories aren’t always so extreme. Between the parents who reject their kids and ones who march in the pride parade, there’s something else, a third option. Avoidance?

Jamie’s mom started working lots of overtime to pay for his tuition. “I don’t want you stuck with a big school loan,” she’d say when they bumped into each other in the hallway at 2:00 am. Not that he wasn’t appreciative, but lately he felt like his relationship with his mother had turned into a business transaction.

The package and its contents stayed on the counter for another 24 hours, until it began to attract flies. Then it eventually found its way back into the trash and a few weeks later the whole incident was forgotten. Everyone was busy studying for finals, excited to finish the semester and get home for Winter Break. Jamie only grew more anxious.

He took a bus home. The sky was grey when he made his way back to the house where he spent his childhood. The familiar smells of old wood furniture and laundry detergent filled his nose as he pushed open the door. “Hello?” It was empty. There was a note on the kitchen table. ‘Dinner in the fridge. Help yourself. I’ll be home as soon as I can, but don’t wait up.’ This was typical. Would it kill her to stop working on Christmas Eve?

After his solitary dinner in front of the TV it wasn’t long before boredom and loneliness lulled him to sleep. Later he awoke to strange noises in the hall. He got out of bed to find a figure in the dark holding scissors. After the initial shock, he recognized his mom. She stood there in her pajamas, shoulders slumped, droopy eyelids, almost zombie-like. He tried to get her attention, but it soon became apparent that she was sleepwalking. He carefully removed the scissors from her hand and ushered her back to her room to tuck her back in.

He went to the kitchen to put the scissors back and noticed a roll of brown wrapping paper sitting on the table. It suddenly occurred to him that his mother was the one who mailed him the package and she must have assembled it during an episode of sleepwalking. Jamie had once read that, although rare, it is possible for people to perform complicated tasks while sleepwalking.

It all started making sense. The ice cream sandwich was a favorite of theirs when he was little. They ate them together after school. She would have to remind him to feed his goldfish with little post-it notes all around the house. After that he could go outside and play while she watched from the porch. The washcloth was to clean his hands and face after the ice cream sandwich got too messy. That way he didn’t have to go back inside to wash up and could keep playing. These were the days when they were happiest together.

On Christmas morning Jamie made the coffee and heated up some cinnamon rolls as was the tradition. Awakened by the scent, his mother emerged from her room wearing her robe.

“Thank you for letting me sleep in,” she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“I got the package you sent to me at school.”

“What package, honey?”

“Nevermind.”

“Mom, I think you’ve started sleepwalking.”

“Did I...last night?”

Jamie nodded. She looked embarrassed.

“Before we open our presents, I just want to say something.” She put down her coffee and settled into the couch across from him. “When you came out of the closet I didn’t know how to react and so I just...didn’t. That wasn’t fair and I’m sorry...Can you forgive me, Jamie?”

Jamie was silent a moment, the lump in his throat making it impossible to talk. He nodded subtly with tears streaming down his cheeks. She released the breath in her lungs and handed him a brown paper package. Inside was a small enamel pin featuring a rainbow and the words ‘proud mom.’

“It’s not for you, it’s for me,” she explained with a smile.

“I figured,” he laughed.