Of 2 Minds

Joe opened his postal box. His mother paid for the postal box because she thought the mail would get stolen in Joe's terrible neighborhood. After all, whenever she was there at Joe's intimate shack, she never saw any envelopes lying around. It was as if nobody wrote letters anymore, which is preposterous, so her conclusion was that there was a land pirate absconding with Joe's parcels. There wasn't. The volume of mail he received in the P.O. box was more or less the same as he had been getting. This time though, there was a brown paper package sitting diagonally in the upright space, and it appeared not to have been sent by his mother.

He started to open the box, and then stopped because he thought Mom might want to watch him open it. He decided she would like that, however, he would rather not indulge her postal obsession. If one were to show any passing interest in her obsessions, one would fumble with regret indefinitely. This is how he managed to have 11 mauve colored polo shirts, a 2-year supply of multivitamins for men, and an inhaler on the off chance that he might one day have adult onset asthma.

The package had no return address. He didn't recognize the handwriting. It weighed, he guessed, about as much as a hardcover best seller, had no odor, and was completely silent when he shook it. He couldn't imagine who would send him a box and what might be contained in said box. After stopping to think about the mystery contents for 7 minutes, he decided that he might be able to come up with more ideas if he started walking towards his apartment. There had already been a couple dozen possibilities in his mind, plus double that in reasons why it couldn't be that. What was the name of the guy who put a cat in a box and couldn't remember if it was alive or dead? Is that really what happened? He couldn't recall, then again why did he care what some English scientist did with his pets.

Once he reached the apartment door, he fiddled with the keys. He didn't want to drop the package on the ground in fear that it might be fragile, explosive, cancerous, radioactive, hallucinogenic, or otherwise harmful if dropped. He dropped his coffee instead. It was after 1:45 in the afternoon, so he probably shouldn't have been drinking coffee anyway. He made it in the door in just over a minute and sat down with the package in his lap. He didn't even close the door behind him.

His right hand reached to untie the tan twine that held it together, yet his left hand moved to slap his right hand down and away. What was happening? An internal battle of risk and reward, he thought, manifesting itself in a tangible match between opposing limbs. Manifesting? Tangible? Where did he learn those words? Mother hadn't taught them to him. Come to think of it, Mother hadn't taught him a wide assortment of things. All of a sudden, his brain came alive with the kind of genius thought reserved for astrophysicists, cardiovascular surgeons, and the guy who makes up all the clues on 'Jeopardy'. For the first time in his life, he was thinking for himself and it was all because of this package.

Was it because of the package, or was it because he hadn't opened the package? If he opened the package, would he become Mommy's imbecile again? Now he didn't know what to do. If he left the package intact he probably would remain this brilliant version of himself, but then opening the package could either make him more brilliant or abscond with his intelligence altogether. What would Mommy do? No. Do the opposite of what Mommy would do, he thought. What was the opposite of what Mommy would do? Perspiration protruded from his pores, but all of a sudden he couldn't remember the words perspiration, protruded, and the little holes in the skin.

"Mom, if you received..." his left hand had dialed up his mother to ask her what the opposite thing was that she would do if he were not her. What? He couldn't even understand what he was saying. He couldn't hang up or she'd come over, but he couldn't tell her that he needed to know what the... wait, what was the what? Panic set in. He pressed his fist into his forehead as hard as he could, trying to make a decision. He heard himself growl like a coyote, if coyotes growled. Finally, he put the phone down next to him, grabbed his sharpened crossword pencil, and began stabbing the package over and over and over. "Where's your Mom now, package?"

He sat back silently. Wow. He was a little ashamed by his outburst and his ridiculous notion that the sample box had come with some kind of brain boosting magic. Clearly, he needed to set some boundaries with his overbearing mother. He was just sorry that it took a damaged sample pack of razors to make him realize it.