It Came in the Mail

It came in the mail, I think. A non-descript package wrapped in twine. My mother said when she was young the feeling of brown paper bags made her skin crawl. I turned the brown paper over in my hands. This package made me nauseous.

I walked into the house and set it on the table. I didn’t read the label, because part of me already knew what it was. I wasn’t sure whether or not it was good news, but either way I didn’t open it. If I pulled off the twine and looked inside that would make it real. So I just left it on the table.

Jack came home beaming about a promotion at work. The new position was going to be demanding but he’d be making more money and possibly getting to travel. They even said he could bring me along to any of the long list of exotic countries that they’d be visiting on behalf of their clients. We danced in the kitchen and ordered overpriced take-out sushi. I didn’t mention the package. I don’t even think he saw it.

I woke up sweating at 4 am. I wigged my way out of Jack’s arms, wrapped around me like a spider before a feast. I turned on the fan before stepping out into the hall. My footsteps echoed as I walked. Just two feet, but it sounded like more. I stopped in the silence, just to be sure. I was alone. I wasn’t.

The windows in the kitchen glowed orange. The streetlights bounced into the house and onto the walls. The shadow startled me at once. It was too big. Much too big for something so small. The package sat undisturbed on the table. It had been there for a few days. Or months, maybe. Jack hadn’t said anything yet. He’d been tired from work, and we were in the middle of planning our trip to Japan. The first of his illustrious destinations. He’d been exhausted, but brimming with excitement, making plans, and talking in his sleep.

The sound of the water streaming out of the fridge door was sobering. I walked back to the room with my chorus of footsteps. The air was crisp when I reentered the room. I could see the parcel on the back of my eyelids, in its deafening silence. Four more months passed with my eyes open.

When Jack finally asked, “hey what’s going on with this?” I laughed and said nothing. I’d spent so long ignoring it in its ominous mundanity. I wasn’t prepared to address it. He left for work confused, but already 5 minutes late, and too busy for the conversation at hand. The door clicked shut behind him, and for the first time in weeks I looked directly at the package. It had grown into its shadow. Terror. Pure terror sunk into my bones. How could I have let this happen? The twine flexed against the paper. How could I have said nothing? How could I have refused to look?

When I went to pick it up, it was soaking wet. The paper was tearing at the seams. I wanted to call Jack, but what would I say? I called him anyway. At first I said nothing, but I never called when he was at work so he knew it was important. He stayed on the line until I told him, and he came as soon as he heard.

He burst through the door. His hair disheveled & his tie loosened. The moment played out as if directed for the silver screen. The twine was gone and the paper had dissolved and I held in my arms that which had been inside.

“Where, how, where did this come from?” Jack asked

I could see on his face that it was good news. It had always been good news. I couldn’t think of a satisfying answer. There was nothing that could excuse my reticence. I closed my eyes and met relief with humor.

“It came in the mail, I think. A stork must’ve dropped it off”