The Parcel

Greg, an ordinary man advanced in his years, with an ordinary life, chances upon a mysterious parcel which happens to be the exact opposite of him in that aspect: extraordinary, unraveling old gossip.

A pain in my eyes. And then blinding light. After a few seconds of squinting and blinking, my eyes adjusted to the early morning sunlight coming in through the window. I couldn't wake up later even if I had wanted―not even after football or bridge nights out with the boys, where none of us could sleep before 2 a.m. It just seemed to be an 'old age' thing; some sort of an unwritten rule of nature that we must, for a reason beyond me, wake up at exactly God-darned seven o'clock in the morning.

I involuntarily let out a groan and slowly sat up, my feet automatically slipping into my soft, worn-out slippers by the bed. Popping my stiff knees, which always seemed to 'wake up' at least half an hour after the rest of my body, I stood up and rotated my aching hips, slipped on my robe and went to prepare breakfast for myself.

While my egg was getting boiled and the coffee was brewing, I opened the front door to get the day's paper. Once I had straightened myself after picking it up, I noticed it: an average sized parcel. It had been haphazardly thrown against the wall. I lifted it; it was rather heavy, and the colour had faded, with blotches of discolouration and stains all around. Really, it looked like it had been through the Second World War (as had I, though mostly with the patriotic job of delivering newspaper). Turning it over revealed a scrawl in fancy cursive handwriting; handwriting that, from a forgotten memory, seemed unusually familiar. It simply read: 

My only sweetheart.

Love, Betty

My hands started shaking―and it was not from my mild Parkinson's.
     

Betty was the name of my wife.

    

Forgetting I had dropped my newspaper, I walked back inside with the parcel. I don't know what kept me from ripping it open.

Maybe the fact that my wife had died twelve years ago―and I had just received a package from her . . . However, after the initial shock wore off and my heartbeat's tempo decreased, I realised there was another complication. 'Complication', in fact, was a splendid understatement.

Here was the thing: although Betty was officially my wife, she had been in a relationship with three other men―a 'close relationship'. Those three men had also happened to be my best friends. In fact, they still were; but we had gone through some nasty times in the past over this woman. We were still not sure who she loved the most. Yes, despite the fact that she was legally married to me . . . And that was what was holding me back; if this parcel was addressed to one of the others, it wasn't fair for me to invade their privacy. After all, two of them lived in the same neighbourhood, and, why, of course it would make sense for me to receive any parcel from her not sent personally―her only known husband. (Yes, I have the legal documents somewhere!) I could admit, I was a mature and noble old man, over any past grudges. I picked up the phone.

After a minute of pacing around the living room table with the parcel on it, thinking really hard as to who could possibly have thrown it at my front porch and why, I sat down to catch my breath.

After about twenty more minutes of frowning at the parcel, the first one arrived, and then the other two (each one thankfully still alive). All of them had a comment to make:

'So how come it was you who received it?'

'Mm. Eh? Hadn't heard from Betty in years . . . '

'Hey Greg, I think your egg exploded.'

I rushed to my forgotten boiled egg and took it off the fire. I replied to the first two, 'I don't know why I  received it, Bruce; maybe because I'm her only legally known husband," I said the last three words flatly, with a hint of old annoyance. 'Bobby, you didn't hear from her because she died twelve years ago,' I said with gentle patience. The look on Bobby's face was a mixture of shock and confusion, as if his prematurely aged brain could not comprehend my grievous words.

We surrounded the parcel on the table and frowned at it together for some time, thinking deeply. Bruce was the first to break the seemingly endless silence, and offered, 'Let me have a look first, maybe. I'll pass it on to one of you if it isn't meant for me . . . though I'd bet you my gold tooth that it has to be,' he smiled with brimming self-confidence.

Louie, being the eager pacifist, exclaimed in reply, 'Or let us just all open it together here! Mighty curious I am about this sweet ol' love, eh?'

Bobby helpfully contributed, 'I haven't received a parcel in years . . . Who is this from?' he smiled at everyone happily.

I stayed quiet, because by the look on Bruce's face, I could feel another disagreement boiling up, and I didn't want it to have the same fate as my egg. I said with caution, 'Boys. I don't want to reopen an old quarrel over . . . some woman who hasn't even been around for so long,' trying not to feel guilty by referring to my beloved cheating wife simply as 'some woman I continued, 'Let's just put it away and not open it―no matter who it's meant for.' I hadn't realised that I stood with my chest puffed out, as if I'd made some heroic sacrifice; because, to be honest, I myself was dying to know what was inside. But it wasn't worth the fight. Not now, not after so many years of peace and good terms. Especially not when the cause of our near-violent fights was, after all, dead.

Bruce glared at me and clenched his fists. Louie look apologetically unconvinced. Bobby looked like he was trying to solve a difficult maths question.

It was all to no avail.

Everything happened all at once: faster than my body was used to reacting, Bruce made a grab for the parcel, and Louie, dear old pacifist Louie, held me back from trying to snatch it away. Ugh. I groaned loudly as I watched Bruce aggressively tear the package apart, and all of a sudden lots of letters and what looked like baby photographs fell out. Bruce eagerly started reading one. Louie released me and ran―more like limped really fast―over to the pile. I walked towards it and curiously lifted a few. Bobby was holding one in his hands as well.

Like a child concentrating really hard on a question asked on their favourite cartoon, he stared at the card he was holding. Then two things happened:

Bruce's eyes widened and he rubbed his face in apparent disbelief.

Bobby slowly read his card out loud, '"Dearest Janie . . ."' then he exclaimed excitedly, 'hey, that name sounds really familiar, boys!' He was positively beaming with pride.

Bruce roared at him, 'OF COURSE IT DOES, YOU DIMWIT, THAT'S YOUR UNFORTUNATE DAUGHTER!'

Author's Note

Please feel free to share your views, and constructive criticism or any suggestions for improving this story would be much appreciated!
p.s. this was an old narrative I wrote for my English class at school.

Reviews

[Ben Barton]

Ok, so I just stumbled across this, and I am so glad I did! This is excellently written. This has such a natural flow, and such a command of tempo and rhythm. I would not have been surprised to have seen the name of any number of established authors attached to this. There is nothing 'average' about you; there is a fully fledged novel inside your head, just itching to be written, and an extraordinary one at that. Keep on writing, Gizem, you're as naturally gifted as they come.

[G.H.H.]

Whoa! I just checked my story close to a year after posting it, and I spotted so many flaws! Instantly edited the whole thing to make it marginally better. So seeing your review now, after my moment of mild shame, made me really happy and pleasantly surprised. Thank you so much, Ben! I still don't quite see exactly what you mean -- but it means a great deal to me that you do. So, really, thank you. :)

[Ben Barton]

Haha, we always see a multitude of flaws in our own writing, especially a year after writing it! But trust me when I say, this was great, especially considering you originally wrote it whilst in school? Insane.

[alanwgraham]

Well done - you've written this really well and I like the twist at the end. Just one point - I am not sure what the bit in brackets about newspaper delivery boy is about
Well done, A land d,
,

[G.H.H.]

Thank you so much for your review! I was actually in the middle of editing the story at the time that you commented, and I was doing so with my phone so that must have ruined the formatting. I have changed it up now, though. Hope it's better! :)

[C. Lee Battaglia]

If this was for a english class then whats your "just for fun writing?"
This was amazing and had me turning since the beginning of the story!
Great plot and a great beginning to a wonderful story!
If you get the chance can you read my story the blonde girl? it would mean a lot.
Keep on writing because I think you have potential!

C. Lee Battaglia

[G.H.H.]

I'll get to that soon! I had actually tried to turn this somewhat into a "just for fun" story, thought not completely.

Thank you so much for the feedback! Means a lot to me!

And yes of course, I'd love to!