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Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With String
Sep. 28th, 2005 11:31 pmWith heels dangling from one hand, and a briefcase full of files hanging off the opposite arm, Fred emerged from her car and tentatively made her way across the minefield of a yard that sat between her, and the door to her apartment. Rocks, uneven pavement, and plants that Fred didn't have the energy to identify all together, all seperated her from home. But Fred still couldn't bring herself to put back on her shoes. Once you got past all the rocks and sharp corners, the grass felt wonderfully warm and free underneath her toes. It was more than caution that made Fred take her time.
She alternated between looking down, and plotting each step after the next, to staring straight ahead, eyes even and unblinking as she followed a certain determination to feel her way through it all. Parts of her insides seemed to be in argument over which was better. Gaze locked to the forward, Fred kicked the small box before she ever saw it. Readjusting her bag, she knelt down to study the plain, brown-papered package, a neatly tied string and local postmark the only thing that broke it's uniform surfaces. Fred worked to control her curiosty, the part of her that wanted to sit on the stoop, tug the paper away, and open it right then and there. She made a face at herself, and lifted the box to carry it upstairs, locking the door behind her.
Fred made a point to resume what little routine she had developed...briefcase by the door, shoes tucked in the hallway closet, and hair pulled back Fred collected the anomaly to her day and headed for the bedroom. She sat down on the bed, cross-legged, and untied the string first, fingers quietly delayed by a very solid knot. Once it was unworked Fred tossed the entire piece to the floor for Pi, before she remembered that he wasn't even there. That he hadn't even ever really been there at all.
She'd pick it up later.
The paper, torn one corner at a time, a ninety degree turn at a time, was warm in Fred's hands, something of the afternoon sun still left in it. This time she didn't toss the remenants away. A shoebox had peeked its way through. Fred lifted the lid, pushed soft pink tissue away, and tried not to...
"Fiegenbaum."
Cry.
( Read more... )
She alternated between looking down, and plotting each step after the next, to staring straight ahead, eyes even and unblinking as she followed a certain determination to feel her way through it all. Parts of her insides seemed to be in argument over which was better. Gaze locked to the forward, Fred kicked the small box before she ever saw it. Readjusting her bag, she knelt down to study the plain, brown-papered package, a neatly tied string and local postmark the only thing that broke it's uniform surfaces. Fred worked to control her curiosty, the part of her that wanted to sit on the stoop, tug the paper away, and open it right then and there. She made a face at herself, and lifted the box to carry it upstairs, locking the door behind her.
Fred made a point to resume what little routine she had developed...briefcase by the door, shoes tucked in the hallway closet, and hair pulled back Fred collected the anomaly to her day and headed for the bedroom. She sat down on the bed, cross-legged, and untied the string first, fingers quietly delayed by a very solid knot. Once it was unworked Fred tossed the entire piece to the floor for Pi, before she remembered that he wasn't even there. That he hadn't even ever really been there at all.
She'd pick it up later.
The paper, torn one corner at a time, a ninety degree turn at a time, was warm in Fred's hands, something of the afternoon sun still left in it. This time she didn't toss the remenants away. A shoebox had peeked its way through. Fred lifted the lid, pushed soft pink tissue away, and tried not to...
"Fiegenbaum."
Cry.
( Read more... )
