The Gift

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