By Monday afternoon I was afraid lack of oxygen would kill it, though I hadn't
risked drilling even the tiniest hole in the lid because of the impending
babies. With a couple of hours to spare before Maggie got home, I took my time
retrieving the jar from its hiding place among the camping gear in the basement.
The thing inside seemed paralyzed for about five minutes, then began ramming the
glass energetically. I figured it must be like a person who keeps running
headlong into a foot-thick concrete wall and stopped worrying. If me stomping on
it didn't destroy it, neither would a few days of thinned-out air, though the
cold in the basement had made it sluggish. Chances are it would probably die off
in cold weather like other insects.
I turned up something else from the basement: a little box that had once held a
new lantern glass. It was just the right size for the jar, with a little extra
room for padding -- some of those great little air bubble sheets were still
inside. I put it all together carefully and addressed it using block letters and
a backhand slant that didn't resemble my usual scribbling at all, though I
really didn't think it would matter.
I was much calmer now. Organization, a sense of security and always knowing what
to do, things patiently modeled for me by Maggie. Knowing how to take care of
business, that was the key. I shook the package gently; not a sound could make
it past all those air bubbles.
The clock showed I still had an hour before Maggie got home. I could walk there
and back and still have time to shower.
"Hi," I said happily. "How much to mail this first class?" The woman behind the
window didn't smile back at me when I pushed the box forward, but I didn't care.
She dropped it on the scale and I winced slightly.
"Dollar-fifty."
"Fine," I said. "Let me have it in stamps, please. And a fragile sticker too."
That earned me a dirty look, but I still walked out of the post office with a
big shit-ass grin on my face.
A warm, wet April breeze blew in the door with us. We'd been out for a Saturday
brunch, nothing fancy but still a treat considering our budget. Maggie checked
the mail and I walked on inside and opened the blinds in the front room; for a
second the sun broke through the cloud cover and shone in the window to send
bright stripes of light bouncing across the carpet. The place I'd once hated
finally seemed like home.
"Look at this, Johnny," Maggie said as she flipped through the envelopes. She
always called me Johnny when we were getting along really well. "The alimony
check came back unclaimed. I wonder what's going on."
I just smiled.
Afterword
