From Sender Unknown?

The window had been passed by several times before the corner of my eye locked on to something out of place. The hairs on my body rose to a point of brittleness, creating an itchy pain I had pushed from my memory.

How I made it to the window, I cannot recall. But my chest had a difficult time rising with the force of the wall pressed so tightly against it.

I peered from the glass, hoping my vantage point would bring clarity. My breath frosting against the chilled pane. Once I locked onto the shape, I tried to blink it's presence away, first slowly and then more rapidly as the tears threatened to build.

Panicking could not be an option. Neither could I cry. My mind tried to channel the breathing exercises I had been forced to learn, but communications with my lungs appeared to have been severed.

Consciously I dredged up the possibilities behind its presence.

It could be from the neighbor across the field. She had left an apple crisp once, which I had thrown in the garbage as the smell of it brought back memories long suppressed. I had returned the gesture with cookies. Having remembered some old adage that a pan should never be returned empty. Perhaps this was another offering. A form of check-in. Making sure the recluse on the old farm was still kicking.

Actually, it could be from a number of people. My brain raced to name names as it desperately tried to catch up to my runaway heart.

The Postman. What was his name? Bill? It could be from him. Just last week, I had offered him one of the pumpkins I started growing this year. This could be a token of thanks.

"Who else? Who else?" The words actually slipped past my lips. The first set cautiously, the second with increasing panic.

Then the part of me, the dark part, the one I had pushed deep down inside spoke up with a sickly whisper, "You know who it's from."

The mere thought echoed within me, radiating out into the hollows I had carved within myself. There wasn't a place left for it to stick. But I could feel the vibration of the echoes, searching, calling out, a phantom grasp within the darkness.

Courage found my fingers and I edged against the wall to grasp the tarnished handle. The flick of my wrist coupled with the force of a life I had built from scratch brought my slippers onto the porch. The autumn wind hitting me with the icy nature of the winter who always follows.

Three squeak filled steps and the sound of my knees cracking brought me face to face with it. It didn't look ominous. It was a brown paper box. No markings besides a string and what appeared to be a flower on its pristine surface. Nothing to indicate it’s deliverer.

Looking around, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. No shadow on the edge of the porch. No silhouette against the sunset. I had picked this house specifically so as to have a sight line at every possible angle. Like a spy in an old movie who always sits with their back to the corner. But now suddenly it felt like a fish bowl, its clarity turning me from the watcher to the watched.

My breath hung within my neck like a noose as my hands edged forward. Hands which no longer looked like my own even though I could clearly see they were attached to my arms. I scooped up the package and backed up in a straight line, closing the front door and sliding the locks in place. Numerous locks I had initially installed out of habit and fear. Locks I had recently begun scolding myself about. Only sliding one home. Timing myself to see how long I could allow them to remain unlocked. Trying to have a shut door the only barrier between me and a past that I vowed would no longer haunt me.

I literally shook my head to dispel the thoughts. How ridiculous I was going to feel when I opened the package to find its contents innocuous. A package delivered to a wrong address, an offering from any acquaintance trying to build a friendship.

The brown paper package thumped against the kitchen table, one I had lovingly brought back to life from a rummage sale. It was smaller than a twenty-questions bread box, the flaps fastened underneath by a single piece of tape. A masterful technique, one I had never been able to create in my past gift giving. Black twine wrapped around it, creating a bow that reminded me of a toddler's shoelace. And a piece of faux lavender topped it off perhaps in an attempt to elevate the simple brown paper.

My hand shook as I tugged gently on the string. The simple movement allowing it to fall effortlessly to the table, the lavender fleeing with it. Flipping it over, in unison, my thumbs separated the tape with a delicacy that would make any viewer believe it was to saviour the wrapping. To keep it as a memento. In reality it was more like a bomb disposal expert unsure if the wrong move might end in disaster.

It unfolded to reveal a simple brown box. Appearing much smaller unwrapped. No new markings arose to indicate the sender. The tiny flaps on each end left unsecured, gently tucked in. I could almost imagine one flap lifting on its own. Revealing the contents unaided by me. But it remained unmoved. Daring me to become a modern day Pandora.

Instead of turning it on its end, I knelt before it. Anticipation lacing each shallow breath.

I froze. Wondering how easy it was to revert back to the person I had once been. Fear having encoded itself within my very DNA.

Chiding myself, I pinched the box's edge forcing the flap to rise and reveal what may lay within.

A puff of air ruffled my bangs bringing with it that internal deep dark voice, "What if you are looking in the wrong place?"