Calmness Interrupted

Ding-dong! Ding-dong! “Are you kidding me?” I thought. The last noise I wanted to hear was the doorbell. My cup of hot water on the end table begged for some honey and tea. The quilt beckoned me to disappear under it and shut the world out. Ignoring it was always a possibility. Ding-dong! “Apparently not,” I said aloud to myself as the persistent song rang through the empty house.

Who in the world could it even be? I had grounded myself from Ebay, therefore I wouldn’t have packages coming. The few friends I made at college had retreated home for fall break. Surely, no Jehovah Witnesses would be coming to share the “good news” with the snow blanketing the city. Whoever it was they would not be greeted with a smile. After all, it was my birthday; I deserved a little privacy. Just me, my blanket, my tea, and a mindless Lifetime Channel movie.

Ding! I swung the door open as the ‘dong’ echoed irritatingly in my ears. My eyes met an odd-looking woman. She had a tired, harsh aura; like life had been hard on her, or rather she had been hard on life. Her appearance was not what I would consider unkempt, nor was she put together well. It was what my grandfather would refer to as ‘doing well with what you have’. Stringy brown hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. Skin was clean yet absent of any make-up, and seemed to be wrinkled beyond her years. “How old is she?” I found myself wondering for no apparent reason. The man’s top-coat that covered her frail body was tattered, undoubtedly bought at a thrift store many seasons ago.

“Here,” her raspy voice interrupted my assessment. With shaking hands, she thrust a present toward me. Instinctively, I reached for it. As I looked upward from it, in awe I noticed she had turned and was retreating down my porch steps. Maybe a normal reaction would have been to ask her to wait or go after her, but something held me like a living statue in my spot. My eyes followed as she walked hunched over down the street turning out of sight at the corner. She never looked back, just kept focusing on each step.

“Yippee, a birthday present from a homeless person,” my voice dripped with sarcasm. Birthdays had never been a big event in my life. My parents divorced when I was so young that I had no memories of my mother, and she was never spoken of in the house. Respect for my family outweighed my curiosity of her, so I never asked. Being raised by my father’s parents after he had succumbed to leukemia, money had been tight. A birthday cake, a card, and grandma’s fried chicken were the standard growing up. And believe it or not; even at the young age of ten, I knew my celebrations were somehow more special than my classmates’ trips to the mall or fancy dance birthday parties. My grandparents had taken me in and given me all they could. The lessons they bestowed on me were more valuable than any monetary gift I could have desired.

I had received Gran’s birthday card two days ago. Without a doubt, she would have mailed it early to make sure it arrived on time. It brought my thoughts back to the present. Looking at the wrapping, I couldn’t help but smile. Here I was turning twenty-five, and I receive a present adorned in Winnie-the-Pooh paper. My eyes shot to the shelf above the television. A well-loved, threadbare stuffed Eyeore sat proudly staring back at me. As a child, it had never left my side; somehow my protector against anything evil in the world. Such a coincidence that the present from a stranger should make me think of that again.

Snuggling up on the couch, finally letting the hot tea warm me, I gently shook the present. I laughed at myself. Perhaps shaking a present is something we never out grow. A dull rattling sound came from it. Obviously, it wasn’t a new wireless phone. My old one had given out a week earlier. Smiling at the stupidity of my thoughts somehow brightened my day. How would a stranger know I needed a new phone? The places your own thoughts take you are often humorous, and many times disturbing.

Suddenly, it came to me. Should I be frightened of this package? Anthrax . . . A bomb . . . Ultramodern spy cam? I dismissed the thoughts as soon as they developed. After all, who would want to harm me? Who even knew of me? And if it were a death threat of some sort, I had to give them points on originality for the Winnie-the-Pooh wrapping.

“Just open the dang thing!” the voice in my head argued. I adjusted the quilt on my lap and began carefully tearing the paper from the box. I wasn’t scared, yet somehow I wasn’t intrigued either. If anything, I was indifferent. Is this how my attitude toward life had become? Indifferent? Always settling for safe? The box’s rattle was clearer as the covering was discarded. Opening the lid, I looked down to what should have seemed the obvious guess of the sound, yet had not occurred to me. In the bottom lay a baby rattle. Picking it up gingerly, I shook it. And for some odd reason, I smiled. Nothing special existed about the rattle. It was pale pink with white flowers on the handle. I squinted examining it, trying to figure out the meaning. None existed.

I set the small rattle down considering that possibly the stranger had gotten the wrong address. As I lifted the box to see if a name had been scrawled on it, I noticed an envelope taped carefully to the bottom. ‘Annabelle’ was neatly written on it. Though I had always been known as “Belle”, Annabelle was my given name.

It was my turn for my hands to shake. No card was within the envelope, but a single sheet of paper and a picture fell unto my lap. I picked up the picture first. A baby holding the rattle while sitting on what must be her mother’s lap stared back at me. Both were smiling. Studying the photo as if it were a secret map, my heart stopped at what I saw beside them. It was my Eyeore. One tiny hand gripped the leg of the stuffed animal, while the other held the rattle. Instantly, I lifted the letter.





My Dearest Annabelle,

I’m sure you’ve figured out I am your mother. I am not someone who has made good choices in my life. In fact, I have made more mistakes than I have a right to ask God to forgive me for. But you, my dear girl, are the only thing I have done good in this world. Today you are twenty-five. The age I was when your father rightly took you from me. I hold no grudge, because he made the best decision – one I didn’t have the strength to. I am not someone you should be proud to call your mother, but, my dear Annabelle, I am so proud to call you my daughter.

All my love,

Mom





Author's note: My students were given prompts to write a story, so to be fair I allowed them to select one for me. The prompt was: On your birthday, a strange-looking lady came to your door and handed you a a wrapped present. You rattled it. It made a noise. Write a story about this present. Use the following words in the story: top-coat, ultramodern, upward, water, wireless, yippee.