Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit
It was now mid-August, which meant he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months
Two months, and all he had to show was three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls
True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin, and he to Locust, Pennsylvania
She had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity
She would date occasionally, but merely as amusement
She would remain faithful
But lately, Waldo had begun to worry
He had trouble sleeping at night
And when he did, he had horrible dreams
He lay awake at night
Tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilt protector
Tears welling in his eyes as he pictured Marsha
Her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothings of some Neanderthal
Finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion
It was more than the human mind could bear
Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him
Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts
And the thing was, they wouldn't understand how she really was
He, Waldo, alone understood this
He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche
He had made her smile
She needed him, and he wasn't there (Aw)
The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers' Parade was scheduled to appear
He'd just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons' lawn for a dollar fifty
And had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha
There was nothing but a circular from the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs
At least they cared enough to write
It was a New York company
You could go anywhere in the mails
Then it struck him
He didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true
But why not mail himself?
It was absurdly simple
He would ship himself parcel post, special delivery
The next day, Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment
He bought masking tape, a staple gun
And a medium-sized cardboard box, just right for a person of his build
He judged that with a minimum of jostling, he could ride quite comfortably
A few air holes, some water, perhaps some midnight snacks
And it would probably be as good as going tourist
By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set
He was thoroughly packed, and the Post Office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock
He'd marked the package "Fragile"
And as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included
He tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's face
As she opened her door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer
And then opened it to see her Waldo, finally there in person
She would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie
If he'd only thought of this before
Suddenly, rough hands gripped his package, and he felt himself borne up
He landed with a thud in a truck and was off
Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair
It had been a very rough weekend
She had to remember not to drink like that
Bill had been nice about it, though
After it was over, he'd said he still respected her
And, after all, it was certainly the way of nature
And even though, no, he didn't love her, he did feel an affection for her
And after all, they were grown adults
Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo
But that seemed many years ago
Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend
Walked in through the porch screen door and into the kitchen
"Oh god, it's absolutely maudlin outside"
"Ach, I know what you mean, I feel all icky"
Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge
Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table
Licked her finger and made a face
"I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," she wrinkled her nose
"They make me feel like throwing up"
Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd seen on television
"God, don't even talk about that"
She got up from the table and went to the sink, where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins
"Want one? Supposed to be better than steak"
And then attempted to touch her knees
"I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again"
She gave up and sat down
This time, nearer the small table that supported the telephone
"Maybe Bill'll call," she said to Sheila's glance
Sheila nibbled on a cuticle
"After last night, I thought maybe you'd be through with him"
"I know what you mean
My God, he was like an octopus; hands all over the place"
She gestured, raising her arms upwards in defense
"The thing is, after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know
And after all, I didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday, so I kind of owed it to him
You know what I mean"
She started to scratch
Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth
"I'll tell you, I felt the same way
And even after a while"
Here she bent forward in a whisper
"I wanted to"
Now she was laughing very loudly
It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang the doorbell of the large stucco-colored frame house
When Marsha Bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the package in
He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen-cent tip that Marsha had gotten out of her mother's small beige pocketbook in the den
"What do you think it is?" Sheila asked
Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back
She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room
"I dunno"
Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the muffled voices
Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton
"Why don't you look at the return address and see who it's from"
Waldo felt his heart beating
He could feel the vibrating footsteps
It would be soon
Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label
"Ah, god, it's from Waldo"
"That schmuck," said Sheila
Waldo trembled with expectation
"Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila
And both of them tried to lift the staple flap
"Ah sst," said Marsha, groaning
"He must have nailed it shut"
They tugged on the flap again
"My God, you need a power drill to get this thing open"
They pulled again
"You can't get a grip"
They both stood still, breathing heavily
"Why don't you get a scissor," said Sheila
Marsha ran into the kitchen
But all she could find was a little sewing scissor
Then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement
She ran downstairs
And when she came back up, she had a large sheet metal cutter in her hand
"This is the best I could find"
She was very out of breath
"Here, you do it; I-I'm gonna die"
She sank into a large, fluffy couch and exhaled noisily
Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard flap
But the blade was too big, and there wasn't enough room
"God damn this thing," she said, feeling very exasperated
Then, smiling, "I got an idea"
"What?" said Marsha
"Just watch," said Sheila, touching her finger to her head
Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could barely breathe
His skin felt prickly from the heat, and he could feel his heart beating in his throat
It would be soon
Sheila stood quite upright and walked around to the other side of the package
Then she sank down to her knees
Grasped the cutter by both handles
Took a deep breath
And plunged the long blade through the middle of the package
Through the masking tape
Through the cardboard, through the cushioning
And right through the center of Waldo Jeffers' head
Which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red
To pulsate gently in the morning sun
