. . . that comes in Seroquel box!
Try to imagine what I looked like as I stood looking inside P.O. Box 6943, not sure what lay before me. I don't recall how long I stood, just staring, but I remember looking beyond the end of that narrow slot, to the shelf behind the wall of boxes on the other side. Light slanted across the shelves of stored items.
Blink. Look again. Nope. It wasn't an illusion. A flattened Seroquel box still lay there; neatly aligned with the angles of edges of the confines that were mine for a year. A Seroquel box? Why? From? Hmm. Was it safe? Why wouldn't it be? Wait! Look. A Lisa Simpson stamp? A Lisa . . . Yep. It's legit. The thing has postage.
And, in that moment, my sense of wonder, curiosity, and my sense of humor returned, and I reached in with a steady hand, and brought it out. I confess to turning it over, sideways, and upside down, before realizing it really was correspondence. It almost met the requirements to make it my mail. I say almost because there wasn't a return address. However, it had a face.
It was the face that did it. The face cinched it. The return address field bore a face that only an artist who still draws cartoons on occasion could love. “Yes, woman it's real,” I whispered. And true. And thoughtful. And most of all, sincere.
I wanted to open it then and there, but like me, the sender made it secure. Made me wonder if we shared a history of having worked in a mail room. I laughed out loud then. People stared, but who cared? I chuckled all the way to my car.
Tried to open it again. Instructions said, Lift here. So I tried. Too bad for me that I'd bitten off my nails two nights ago. I could have lifted and edge . . . I scratched away until I tore it! Dismay! Frustration! Determination and patience saved the day. Slowly, the tape came undone, and there it lay. A letter. How clever!
I’m sad to say, the first sentence made my mouth dry. Trepidation writ itself all over my face, I’m sure. Uh-oh? What’s this: "Oh yeah? Well tell me about it." An angry tone? Surely not. Swallow that burgeoning feeling of. . . What? Fear? Not this limner. I kept reading.
See? I was right not to worry. What came after the attention-grabber, was the date. Write on? I read on! And I laughed out loud. Delighted, amused, tickled, surprised! All that, and more. I smiled as I read, paused to enjoy and revel, and I enjoyed the delight that came to me on the inside of an empty Seroquel box.
. . . to be continued.