Little Interruptions

Opening the door to greet the day each morning is the ritual that keeps me going. Whatever I face when I take that first breath of fresh air prepares me for the rest of my day. I instituted this vital early step in my begin-the-day routine when I realized that breathing the stale air inside only served to keep my thoughts and feelings stale as well. This was no way for a creative to start her day, so I changed it.

On this particular morning, I heard a weird buzzing just before I opened the door. I stepped out on the porch into the sunshine just in time to see the drone flying away and the box sitting on the step. I watched until the drone was out of sight, disappearing over the mountains. I'd heard of drone-delivered packages, but never knew of them to be a reality in this remote part of the mountains. Besides, drones have always given me a creepy vibe, how they could be hovering just outside your window and someone miles away could be watching you. Cowardice. That about sums it up.

I had no idea who would be sending me a package by drone, why they would be sending it, or how they would even have my location, up in this cabin at the end of this dead-end path, nestled in the pines. What was especially eery was that it was a Sunday. That was the big tip off that it was some well-to-do weirdo. Normally, my fresh air break resets my nervous system and points me on the path toward a successful, focused day. That day, that was all turned around.

There was definitely hesitation as my mind was of course reeling imagining what could be in the parcel. I didn't know if I could, or should, trust an anonymously delivered-by-a-drone package. But trust aside, I knew I couldn't just leave it there, even though it may contain a bomb. What was I going to do?: Call the local police and tell them I was worried that a cardboard box might blow up in my face? Somehow I don't think they'd appreciate the ring.

Still… the temptation was there to reach out to someone. I'd watched too many cop shows to know the sinister possibilities that may lay within the cardboard walls of that boxed-up mystery. So, I called up my sister:

"Well, does it have a return address? Did you look at it up close to see if there are any notable markings or if it's even addressed to you?," she inquired when I relayed my dilemma to her.

These were all questions I hadn't considered. I was too preoccupied focusing on the major disruption this was having in the flow of my typical routine. That, and the paranoia about the contents of the interruption.

"Let me go check," I replied.

"Yeah, I mean maybe it's not even meant for you. Maybe it was left at the wrong doorstep. That's probably more likely anyway. It's probably just an Amazon package or something and someone programed in the wrong address, you know how we're always getting other people's mail."

"Yeah, that's true. You're probably right."

But, sure enough, when I inched cautiously toward it, there was a hand-written label. My address was clearly written on it, no return address to be seen though, and there was one other peculiar thing: it didn't say my name, well, at least not the name that most people call me. Instead, it was addressed to my nickname, but also not one that just anyone would use, one that only one individual in particular had ever called me in my life.

I almost dropped the phone when I read this, and I must had audibly gasped, because I heard, "What? What is it?" from the other end of the line.

"I can't believe this. No, this is so weird: I haven't heard from him in ages. Why now?"

"Can't believe what? What's so weird? Haven't heard from whom in ages? What's happening now?," I heard my words echoed back in question form.

"No. It can't be. Not Bill… is it?," she asked, her voice containing the same amount of sonic shock as I felt physically pulsing through me in the moment.

"Uh-huh," I muttered.

With hands shaking, soul trembling, and mind spinning, I reached out toward the box. I couldn't believe after all this time he would reach out this way. Knowing now that there was simply no way this box contained a bomb - at least not in the literal sense - I took it in my hands and tore it open. Inside, was a carefully folded piece of paper which, upon unfolding, I discovered was actually several sheets and that these pages had a hand-written letter on them. The box also contained another, even smaller box, which I couldn't resist opening even before reading the somewhat lengthy letter. When I lifted the lid, I discovered the box did indeed contain something explosive after all: within that jewelry box was an engagement ring, the most beautiful one I had ever seen and a small note that simply said, "Let's Talk."