I've Got The World On A String

Ding-Dong.

12:00 p.m. on the dot. Ernie knew how she liked consistency.

Martha stretched her tired legs from their crossed position on the couch and slipped on her pink fuzzy slippers, waiting patiently near the coffee table. Stretching her back, then adjusting her matching pink robe with a fuzzy white tail on the back, Martha set forward with a purposeful, yet mindless shuffle towards the door.

She stopped for a moment to admire the small Christmas tree twinkling in the corner, standing proud next to a withering fire she had lit earlier in the day. Her vision blurred, just for a moment, as she allowed herself to remember his smile. Exasperated but adoring as she fiddled with every branch, made sure every ornament was facing the audience, and adjusted the forever-crooked star, all the while soaking in that familiar feel of his eyes on her. That was their thing. He watched. She pretended not to notice. And he never mentioned that he knew she knew–that she loved it.

Clearing her mind, she continued to the door. By the frosty touch of the knob, she knew winter was setting in, at last. Her thermostat never went much higher than the temperature outside, so she could justify bundling up in blankets and worn-out fuzzy socks without the risk of heat stroke, so the chill leaking in from outside as she opened the door made the woman of particularities give a little smile to herself.

She looked around but there was no Ernie. However, sitting on her front porch bench was a medium-sized package. There was a note peaking out from beneath.

My Dearest Martha,

In the instance you forgot about the new “changing of the guard,” I wanted to take the liberty of sending a friendly reminder. I won’t be able to stay and have our usual afternoon chat of Oreos, milk, and lovers-gone-by, but thought the least I could do was make this transition a little easier. The drone that has so rudely taken my occupation of 46 years from me has, annoyingly enough, done its job and dropped off your package, but it couldn’t even have the decency to ring the doorbell! Ha! You can never beat good ol’ fashion human service. But anyhow, I gave your bell a ring but now have to see to some ads in the paper about being a bag bog, it’ll be just like the 60s… Shoot me now. I’ll try to catch up later.

XoXo, Your sacked mailman, aka, Ernie

She had forgotten. With all the hustle and bustle of retirement (reading mystery novels under her covers and sweeping up Snickers wrapper that had fallen from hand to floor amidst afternoon naps) it had slipped that her favorite mailman was being replaced by a drone. Warmth spread to her cheeks at the thought of being alone Monday afternoons. Entertaining Ernie was routine. Martha would rant about the latest novel of choice and Ernie would munch on a soggy oreo pretending to not care that his boss gets on him for taking an extra thirty minutes to finish the route. A routine that seems to be losing steam, she thought with remorse.

The package was wrapped nice, traditional. All tied up with string, as Julia Roberts once sang. After locking the door, Martha shuffled back to the coffee table and laid the package there She fixed up a soft, thick pillow and a warm blanket on the ground and took a seat, crossing her legs. It felt like Christmas, sort of.

She rubbed her withered hands together and whispered aloud, “Merry Christmas Martha. May all your dreams and wishes come true.”

The box was light, most likely filled with packing peanuts to keep the important thing inside safe, she guessed. She did not recognize the return address but did not think much of it. She would accept any act of kindness these days. It was strange, however, she had to admit. Her new ornament for the year had already come (a model of two Broadway theatre seats to remember when they went to see Wicked. She cried into her sweater. He leaned into her shoulder and peeked at her a long while, with that lovely smile). And she had not placed any new book orders.

She undid the string, then dismantled the tape from the packaging to reveal the box underneath. Just as well, it was an ordinary box. Growing more curious, Martha pulled the tape off the top and opened the flaps, attempting to lay them flat to the sides. Another box. But this one was smaller. More delicate. The design was a marble of dark and lighter blues, mimicking the ocean waves.

Oh, she wondered. For reasons not yet known, this tiny package made her heart thump and her eyes lock. Moving a few packing peanuts out of the way, she reached a trembling hand inside and swirled her fingers on the box. Smooth to the touch. She followed the patterns on it for a while, stalling on opening the box. When she determined that she could not wait any longer, she pulled it out from its cradle and set it on her knee.

Birdie tapped into the room, gave Martha’s knee a loving brush, then laid on the armchair in front of the fireplace. At least some routines don’t change, she thought gratefully. She was particularly glad for her cat at that moment. To be grounded from the mystery box.

Her fingertips grasped the sides and pulled up, revealing what was inside, laying on a plush bed of tufted cerulean blue. She began to sob and laugh. To anyone else, this would be a ghastly eyesore of an ornament, but to her, it was the world. No, really.

Laying inside the completely misleading box of elegance, was a little version of the world, inside an ice-cream cone. Something urged her to look in the brown box again, and once she did she scrambled to open the cream-colored envelope.

To Martha, was written on the front. In the loveliest handwriting, she ever knew.

She ripped it open, a few tears descending down her tired face.

Martha, My love,

I miss you already. Though this will not be the only thing I leave behind, it is one that will mean a great deal to both of us, even after I'm gone. Especially after I'm gone. I want you to remember, that even after we are no longer together, I will always be there for you. I will always be watching you from the sidelines.

Remember when we first started going steady, and you wanted me to try writing romantic letters to ya? I can admit now that most of them were complete rubbish. And I’m sorry you ever had to pretend to like them. But then there was that one letter I wrote, for our 1 year anniversary, and I think that was when it all clicked for me. Yeah it was mushy and I might have overdone it on the prince charming talk, but it all came from the heart. And you know what I said? No, what I heard in my heart then wrote down? That I wanted to give you the world…on your favorite thing, an ice cream cone. Cheesy. But true. So even though I'm gone now, cancer be damned for taking you from me. I wanted to have this made now, exactly one year from when you'll get it, so when I'm not there to watch you decorate the tree, you know I will be.

P.s. there’s one more thing inside the envelope.

Merry Christmas, Darling.

Yours forever, j.p.

The tears were free-flowing now. She couldn’t stop. She was choking on them.

**

It must have been an hour later when Martha picked herself up off the floor and re-read the letter again, this time, only a few more tears slipping onto her now-drenched robe.

She picked up the ornament hanging from a gold-string loop, and admired it in the candlelight, determined to see and memorize every atom of it. This was him. His hands may not have created it but his heart did. After she was sure she would dream about it, she clutched it to her chest, the cool metal felt good against her flushed skin.

Wait, there was something else, she just remembered. She peered inside the envelope and found a thicker, smaller one. It was labeled,

A new flavor for that cone.

She carefully opened this one and pulled out a brochure rubber-banded to an itinerary. She undid the binding and her heart gave a leap. The brochure was for the GreenWay Apartment, Agatha Christie’s former holiday home…in England. She almost fainted.

Folded inside the itinerary were plane tickets, two of them. Two? She wondered. Why two? But then, she did not have to wonder long. The plane was leaving tomorrow. Running her hand under her snotty nose, and giving the dismembered gift in front of her a little sad but altogether joyous and appreciative giggle, she sprang up much faster than she has in the past year and went to cover Birdie in hundreds of little kisses. “We’re going to England,” she hummed, snuggling into the annoyed cat’s fur. 'No pet' rules be damned.

**

Five hours later she was scrambling to throw her dirty dishes in the sink and push all her shoes she wasn’t bringing into the hall closet. The ornament was wrapped a hundred times over in tissue paper and stuffed in her coat pocket. Her largest suitcase was sitting next to the telephone when she started to ring a familiar number.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Ernie. It’s me. You busy?”

“Well, I don’t know. Does eating leftover spaghetti and solving the latest Washington crossword suffice?”

“Nope. That’s very lame. And sad. I have better plans.”

“Which are?” Ernie smirked through the phone.

“England. You and me. Us. Tomorrow. Well, now. I want to get to the airport early, you never know how long the lines are going to be, especially around this time of year, you kno–”

“Whoa, whoa. England? I’m all for traveling after retirement but can a man finish his spaghetti first?” Ernie’s head was whirling. Could he afford this? Why now? Did she know?

Martha gave a playful sigh, “Well if you must, then I suppose. Slurp away. Call me when you’re down. I’ll be waiting. Pick me up please.” With that she gave a decisive click and took a seat in her armchair, Birdie purring in her lap, a dreamy look on both of their faces.

An hour later, there was a hard knock on the door. Ernie was standing on the front doorstep, newscap on tight and arms huddled against his body, snow was lightly whirling around him. Martha wanted to snap a picture.

“Hmm. You usually ring the bell. You’ve changed.”

“Well, this isn’t work, and times are changing darlin’. Can I come or do you have a thing for the human popsicle look?”

She swung the door all the way, allowing him entrance. He stamped his boots on the mat and scuffled in, blowing on his hands for warmth.

She held up the brochure and tickets. Ernie’s eyebrows lifted. “How long have you been planning this then?

Martha smiled sadly. “Not long at all. But…h-he was.” Her voice wobbled.

“Oh.” He said with a softened voice. “Was this in the package that was delivered earlier?”

“Yep. He’d planned it last year. Two tickets. God knows how he knew I’d want a companion. I didn’t have many close friends besides him and, well, we only,” she motioned between then “met a month after his passing. You moved here from Colorado and I force-fed you cookies and got you in trouble with your new boss.” Tears were welling in her eyes, she fiddled with the buttons on her coat. She stuffed the bunch of papers in her inside coat pocket and shook her head a little.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have pressured you. I’m sure this is a little weird for you. After all, this would be a lot different from afternoon chats.” Her cheeks were flushing red with embarrassment, and a little bit of untethered hope.

Ernie started clearing something in his throat, “Oh, no, no, don’t think like that. Nothing like that. I would like to spend…that amount of time, with you. You. Uh. You’re amazing.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and screwed up his face. “It’s just, are you sure you want to bring me? Don’t feel like I deserve this? I’m just your mailman.” Now his face was tinged with embarrassment, and something a bit more.

She reached for his hand and drew it out of his pocket, holding it, she said with determination, “Besides Birdie, there is not a single living creature on this earth I would want to take besides you. Who else is going to listen to me rant about Christie’s novels while we sleep under Christie’s roof? Only you would be silly enough to do so…” She gave him a small smile.

Ernie looker to his left. “Is that a Christmas tree in your suitcase?”

Martha followed his gaze, then looked back at him. “And what about it?”

He smiled. “Well, we better get going if we want to beat the holiday rush.”

He picked up her suitcase and started hauling it to the car, guffawing at the weight.

Martha held the tissue paper-covered ornament in her hand, closed her eyes, and whispered to the air, “You always make my wishes come true. And I always had the world. It was you.”