Passing time

BROTHER JOAN

 

The sky is a dismal gray, really leaking. Rain has been constant half the night and all day. Any desire I might have had to go grocery shopping or even just walk to my car has fallen flat. I sit by the front window getting gloomier and gloomier, knowing too well how stupid this is. Today's Saduko is too tough for me. I roll it into a tight ball and toss it towards the trash can under my desk. It falls way short and I don't care, let it lay there. A little voice whispers, 'Dust the dining room table or write your epitaph on it.' The idea does not appeal to me nor does watching the rain pour off of the roof, make rivulets thru the zoysia grass the Greenery laid out front just two weeks ago. Three hundred bucks are washing down the sewer.

 

Like the lawn, I am soggy too. By 7:30 I had finished my eight ounces of daily O.J., three bland cups of Starbuck's LA coffee, two six oz. glasses of tap water to get down my Valium, Aleve and calcium. The powder room is my temporary respite from ennui.

 

I jump up from my lounger when I realize the afghan I finished knitting just last week that warms my chilled legs has the pattern the wrong way. 'Self, fix it right.' Self tells me to jump in the lake and I sit staring at the rain. What's left? Read a book, call somebody, write a letter, go on line and search the damn web. Mildred doesn't answer her phone; Emails have stopped my letter writing and I have nothing important to send thru rainy space. What should I search for on the web? I saw enough on t.v. about Krakatoa last night to stop me from wanting more info than I need to know. It scared the bejeesus out of me.

 

Got to do something. Thaw the salmon, set the kitchen table, stew the tomatoes that are beginning to soften, open the peas. Figure out dessert. While I'm doing that I hear a truck, look out the window and barely make out the UPS truck pulling in as close to the garage as it can get without coming inside. The driver opens a big black umbrella and steps out. He's carrying what seems to be a light weight tan carton. I inch the front door open so he doesn't have to stand in the rain. The box is a little wet but I sign the received 'ok' slip and swoosh, I am alone again.

 

As I walk to the kitchen to get a knife or scissors to open the box, I snag my thumb fingernail on the tape and cuss. I am baffled. There is no return address on the label. Who sent this? Why? I slit the tape and bubble wrap is about all I can see. I toss it on the floor to get to the red tissue paper. That lands close to the bubble wrap. A big red velvet heart lies there, with a white card. The writing is in red making me think a woman wrote this. What man would be so snickitty? It says simply, 'I love you, even more than last night, if that is possible.' It is signed 'BROTHER JOAN.'

 

 Question marks swirl around my mind. This isn't Valentine's Day. I have no brother and if I did his name could not be Joan. I call UPS who informs me that since I don't have a tracking number they can give me no information. Now I have lots to do, make phone calls, file my damaged finger nail, get rid of the damp box and have a candy treat or two.

 

With the grey sky getting even grayer, evening finally sets in. John comes with it. I give him a quick hello and short kiss, wave the red and white card in his face, 'Look at this, John. What do you make of it?' He  laughs hysterically, slaps his knees in jubilation, 'I gotcha,' laughs hysterically, slaps his knees in jubilation.'I gotcha, really gotcha, didn't I? You needed mind medicine so I UPSed you some.

 

If you ate all the chocolate covered marshmallows, I'll give you a spanking like I never gave you before.' What's for supper?'