The Gift
Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit.It was now mid-August which meant that he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months.Two months, and all he had to show were 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 printed 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 who she really was.He, Waldo, alone, understood this.He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche.He had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasn't there. (Awww.)The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers Parade was scheduled to appear.He had just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar-fiftyAnd had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha.There was nothing more than a circular form 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 inthe mails. Then it struck him: he didn't have enoughmoney to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion,true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdlysimple. He would ship himself parcel post specialdelivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarketto purchase the necessary equipment. He boughtmasking tape, a staple gun and a medium sizedcardboard box, just right for a person of his build.He judged that with a minimum of jostling he couldride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some water, aselection of midnight snacks, and it would probably beas good as going tourist.
By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughlypacked and the post office had agreed to pick him upat three o'clock. He'd marked the package "FRAGILE"and as he sat curled up inside, resting in the foamrubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he triedto picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha'sface as she opened the door, saw the package, tippedthe deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldofinally there in person. She would kiss him, and thenmaybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought ofthis before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his packageand he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thudin a truck and then he was off.
Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. Ithad been a very rough weekend. She had to remembernot to drink like that. Bill had been nice about itthough. After it was over he'd said that he stillrespected her and, after all, it was certainly the wayof nature and even though no, he didn't love her, hedid feel an affection for her. And after all, theywere grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo --but that seemed many years ago. Sheila Klein, hervery, very best friend walked in through the porchscreen door into the kitchen. "Oh God, it'sabsolutely maudlin outside.""Ugh, I know what you mean, I feel all icky." Marshatightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silkouter edge. Sheila ran her finger over some saltgrains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face."I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," shewrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing up."Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, anexercise she'd seen on television. "God, don't eventalk about that." She got up from the table and wentto the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink andblue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better thansteak." And attempted to touch her knees. "I don'tthink I'll ever touch a daiquiri again." She gave upand sat down, this time nearer the small table thatsupported the telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," shesaid to Sheila's glance.Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After last night, Ithought maybe you'd be through with him.""I know what you mean. My God, he was like anoctopus. Hands all over the place." She gestured,raising her arms upward in defense. "The thing isafter a while, you get tired of fighting with him, youknow, and after all he didn't really do anythingFriday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him, youknow what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheilawas giggling with her hand over her mouth. "I'll tellyou, I felt the same way, and even after a while," shebent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to," and now shewas laughing very loudly.
It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the ClarenceDarrow Post Office rang the door bell of the largestucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronsonopened the door, he helped her carry the package in.He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signedand left with a fifteen-cent tip that Marsha hadgotten out of her mothers small beige pocket book inthe 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 inthe middle of the living room. "I don't know."
Inside the package Waldo quivered with excitement ashe listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran herfingernail over the masking tape that ran down thecenter of the carton. "Why don't you look at thereturn address and see who it is from?" Waldo felthis heart beating. He could feel the vibratingfootsteps. It would be soon.
Marsha walked around the carton and read theink-scratched label. "Ugh, God, it's from Waldo!""That schmuck," said Sheila. Waldo trembled withexpectation. "Well, you might as well open it," saidSheila. Both of them tried to lift the stapled flap.
"Ahh, shit," said Marsha groaning. "He must havenailed it shut." They tugged at the flap again. "MyGod, you need a power drill to get this thing opened."They pulled again. "You can't get a grip!" Theyboth stood still, breathing heavily."Why don't you get the scissors," said Sheila. Marsharan into the kitchen, but all she could find was alittle sewing scissor. Then she remembered that herfather kept a collection of tools in the basement.She ran downstairs and when she came back, she had alarge sheet-metal cutter in her hand."This is the best I could find." She was very out ofbreath. "Here, you do it. I'm gonna die." She sankinto a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily.Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tapeand the end of the cardboard, but the blade was toobig and there wasn't enough room. "Godamn thisthing!" 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 withexcitement that he could barely breathe. His skinfelt prickly from the heat and he could feel his heartbeating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheilastood quite upright and walked around to the otherside of the package. Then she sank down to her knees,grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breathand plunged the long blade through the middle of thepackage, through the middle of the masking tape,through the cardboard, through the cushioning and(thud) right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head,which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcsof red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.