Piece on Earth

I knocked off the snow from my boot. It was just a light layer of white over the pavement and grass. On the former, it began melting and revealing the sidewalk. I then heard multiple drones whirled away in unison. I noticed a whole swarm of drones float into the grayish green sky at dusk. I deduced that my neighbors had been given the same gift.

I started to go around the neighborhood in jeggings, a sweater, and a down coat as well.

“Merry Christmas Terrell. Did you get a package on your doorstep?”

“Merry Christmas, Nania! Yeah, I did. I just put it in my stocking to open up tomorrow.”

“I was going to do the same. Should we wait, though? I say we interact with whoever may have received the thing, too,” I replied. “Let’s trek over to the Gotmans.”

The same story played out in the whole neighborhood. The individuals who received the parcel all came out of their homes. They brought their human children and fur children.

The evening lit up with the dazzling lights of the decorations as well as smartphone lights punching through the dimness.

People I’ve known for over a decade walked down the road with their phone in one hand and the handheld package in the other. I tried to make out the amount of people that populated the center of our street.

Shrieks of “let’s open it now!” and “wait until tomorrow!” broke through the otherwise silent winter evening. The group of neighbors was inches away from being a mob. Social media was ablaze with posts about the incident. Someone tipped the news agencies. Only one van came to our neighborhood.

Channel 30 News reporter Livingworth Dole interviewed a few people. The first was Sadie Forester.

“Do you think this is some kind of message from a malevolent force?”

“No, but I want to tear it open tonight! We should have the freedom to reveal what’s in the box!” Then another chant rose.

“Open the box! Open the box!”

“You always get to open at least one gift on Christmas Eve,” Sadie remarked.

She ripped open the perforated white mail parcel and slid out yet another gold and green wrapped box with a red bow. She sliced through the wrapping and beheld a jewelry box. All eyes (and cameras) gazed upon the box within a box within a box.

Sadie opened it slowly. My eyes glazed.

She revealed a platinum and diamond cup chain. A feminine accessory, the thin chain and charm glittered in the lights like the winking lights on the houses around the neighborhood.

Upon further inspection, Sadie could make out a face. It was the prophet Mohammad encrusted in diamonds. I rejoiced. I clapped my hands and stamped my feet. “Yes!” I said.

My other neighbors weren’t as enthusiastic. They were thinking of schemes to get money for the jewels. A grumbling persisted among the populace. Dole stepped to Sadie.

“What does this mean to you?” he asked.

“It means I can finally buy a new car after selling this thing.”

Then the camera panned to me. Dole asked,

“So where did this jewelry come from?”

“It had to come from Fuzaylov and Co. since is initials are inscribed on the back.”

“That makes sense. Thank you for pointing that out.”

Some people, however, started to laugh at the prospect of keeping the chain for future use. They might sell the pendant. New worries about whether the jewels would be stolen found themselves on the neighborhood watch app.

While it seemed as if the neighbors would all revolt against each other in some mini Holy War, instead someone’s speaker system played “Carol of the Bells.” My husband Garnan greeted me in the street as people sang the melody to the Christmas classic.

“It looks like you’ve solved another mystery,” he said to me.

“I think so. I mean, I was the first to step out and claim that these gifts were for us. What they do with them is their business. I choose to wear my chain and pendant of Mohammad proudly. Oh, that reminds me. I’ve got to finish preparing the ham for tomorrow.”

We journeyed back in the house as the news van exited out of our neighborhood.