The package on my doorstep had my name, but I didn’t order it.
Anyway, it couldn’t be a usual delivery as the package was unmarked by any company logo as far as I could see. It was wrapped in non-descript brown paper and tied with an elegant red ribbon expertly into a bow. The name was written in calligraphy on a folded card taped to the front. No address meant must have hand-delivered. Someone had taken great care and great pains in sending it to me in this way. But who?
I went through a rigorous mental exercise about who among those I considered acquaintances or deigned to call friends would take the time and effort to send a package in such a manner. Neither list was long, and the simplest answer was no one. The idea of it being a prank crossed my mind fleetingly which I promptly dismissed as highly unlikely.
Tom, Dick, and Harry pressed against the back of my feet as I stood, uncertain what to do with the package. The adage ‘curiosity killed the cat’ didn't come into existence out of thin air, and I, with my three adorable feline companions, had no intention of contributing to its verifiability. If only I could examine the handwriting on the name card closely, perhaps I would be able to tell who wrote it or sent this. But that meant getting closer to the mysterious package and no way I was going to risk that.
Maybe I could leave the package like this for my neighbor and her ultra-inquisitive poodle to sniff out if it posed any possible danger. If I waited another couple of hours, it was a definite possibility. The thought of either or both of them catching the full brunt of surprise in the box was tempting and made me grin. But then, if it turned out to be a good surprise, then the bitch might damage it and her owner would find yet another excuse to invite herself inside, ruining the rest of my day.
Suddenly I felt an overwhelming urgency to go pee while, at the same time, my throat was overly dry and my body signaled hunger. It was not unexpected since my last meal was entirely comprised of a full and quarter bottle of undiluted liquid dinner. But before I could do anything or think any more about what to do with the package, a sudden fierce struggle ensuing against my feet made me look down.
Tom and Harry were at each other, and Dick being Dick was adding fuel to the fire by interfering and infuriating both the others. I don’t care what anyone, especially the namby-pamby dog-lovers, says but having cats gave one perspective and philosophy that no other pets can. I kicked at the three hell spawns to keep their fight from spilling outside and turned my attention once again to the package. Since discovering it, I had been standing with an eff-all idea of what to do next for about ten minutes now, and it was time to decide.
Between the noise of clatter from the living room indicating the feline fight having continued and risen in intensity, and the rumbling sounds my stomach made to complain at not getting immediate attention even while my bladder refused to stay put if ignored any longer, it was easy to make up my mind and swing into action. I scooped up the package gingerly and slammed the door behind me. No bang! So far, so good.
It seemed the catfight needed only some food plopped in front of the Warrior Three to subside and I dug into the pizza slices left over from yesterday’s lunch to likewise pacify my belly. As clarity of thought returned, I put on my glasses and scrutinized the package closely. My name, no address, and no clue of the sender. I had already noticed when I brought it in that it was lighter than what its dimensions suggested. All this bespoke a fine mystery waiting to be solved. For a couch potato like me, the numerous movies and series I had binge-watched half my life made it an ideal case to apply my brains. No master of detection could crack it without first investigating the contents of the package, I reasoned aloud. Harry concurred and Dick graced me with his most apathetic look while Tom was nowhere to be seen since finishing his tuna.
Discarding the finely calligraphed name card and tearing away the wrapping paper revealed a singularly unremarkable box that I still couldn’t get open without undoing the ribbons first. Damn, where were the scissors when you needed them? Impatient tugging only made the problem knottier. I got a knife from the kitchen and unceremoniously snapped off the ribbon hacking through the pretentious-looking bow. The answers to the mystery box of what and who and why were closer than ever. Like a seasoned sleuth, I paused to savor my moment of triumph and then flipped open the box.
It dropped to the floor from my hand as I collapsed on my seat. A photo frame lay on my lap face down. Something hurt deep inside, amplified by the sudden hollowness that had engulfed me. I wanted to look at the picture again but the shock of the first peek had yet to subside. When I did turn it over, I couldn’t see clearly and realized it was tears obscuring my vision. I didn’t know how because I had thought I was all cried out.
I picked up the empty box to look at the name card I had so carelessly ripped and thrown aside. The calligraphy was exquisite and now evoked a recognition of resemblance to an almost forgotten handwriting. Knowing I was about to feel pain once more but welcoming and reveling in it, I took a deep breath and turned my gaze upon the framed picture of us holding a cat together. It was no longer torn through the middle like it was the last time I held it in my hand, now joined together with a cello tape. When did he mend it? Why had he kept it? What made him send it? How did he know where I lived?
The questions rushed at me! The breath in my chest started to feel trapped! I felt clammy with sweat! The more my conscious mind fought to regain control, the more anxiety gnawed at me and my musings! I gripped the photo frame tightly and had a sensation of sinking in quicksand! As I listened to someone whispering in my ears to let go, I felt myself transported in time to when the picture was taken! We were in our last year at school. Where did the last three decades go?
I saw myself hugging the cat, a different cat I used to dote upon. He had presented to me as an elaborate opening gambit of proposing. When I accepted after keeping him in suspense for over a day, he had whooped making me blush. Then he had asked a passerby to click us and capture the moment forever. I used to believe in forever those days. A naïve, blind idiot in the flush of youth, I cackled. How could anyone in their right senses ever believe in the nonsense of promises and stay happy all the time when in love?
My mood had darkened. I found myself stabbing holes into the box with the knife that was lying beside me and I had picked up absent-mindedly. Why did I let myself go down the rabbit hole of nostalgia that always left me depressed, then violent, drawn into and revolting from a consuming nihilism that desired to watch the world crash and burn with everyone in it?
I don't know why I felt the stinging of once-familiar tears when it was I who had broken up with him after learning he was going away to attend a college in a far-flung corner of the country. Were my tantrums or the subsequent breakup justified, or just a lie I told myself hoping it would make him change his mind and stay? I felt sucker-punched and betrayed all over again as I relived the day that he had boarded the train and gone forever. I guess some forevers last eternal!
After so many years spent forgetting and fortifying my solitude, my mask of indifference was crumbling under piled-up regret. My disintegrating defenses left me shattered like a mirror into a thousand little pieces. As I sat there wondering if he had come up to my doorstep to deliver the package himself, I trembled at the possibility and my heart grew, not unlike the Grinch. It was heavy with grief and bitterness as I let myself get washed over and go under.
From somewhere down the street, broken verses of a Christmas carol floated inside. Pushing aside the box, I looked around for my cats. Dick was sleeping without a worry in the world. Tom had reappeared and was stretching languidly and yawning. Harry, most attuned to my moods, was watching me, perhaps waiting for a cue, because when our eyes met, he jumped onto my lap and curled into a ball. Hot tears flowed freely down as I sobbed uncontrollably with him sitting on my past in a photo frame, as the package with my name lay mutilated at my feet, discarded once again.
