The Package

I've never been one to succumb to desire. Conditions that would tempt most everyone else simply remind me of how much I don't care about the packages I deliver. It's just a job; something that is effortless enough to make a living yet gets me out of the apartment. I've delivered dozens of packages this summer and none of them even remotely sparked my curiosity. None, except for one...

Over the summer, I decided to take a break from the stresses of college and get a courier job in the heart of Manhattan. Did you know you can trace Manhattan's origins to trading posts founded by colonists in the 1620's? I thought it fitting that I take a "trading" job so to speak. Actually, that's a lie. My cousin talked me into it. She felt I "Need to take my mind off of school," whatever that means. I guess she is right though. It's kinda peaceful riding through the streets of New York on my bike; it really takes the tension off, ya know?

"Get out the damn street kid!"

"Ope! Sorry about that, Sir! Just got a package to deliver." Eh, maybe peaceful is not quite the right word.

While the last couple months have been helpful in getting my mind off of my studies, at the same time, I can't wait to go back to school this fall! Ever since my little brother passed a couple winters ago, I've kinda felt like I've been on my own. That's why my cousin suggested I come study at New York University. She's a little older than I am; she's already got her bachelor's degree. I think she is working on her master's in psychology, so who am I to argue with what may or may not be good for grieving. My little brother LOVED Emily. She was always there for us. Our parents didn't really get along, so there was never really any "family" time aside from the escapes from reality in which Emily provided for us.

"Andrew! You got my package?"

"Oh, hey Mrs. Andrianakis! Yep, I've got it right here!" I hand Mrs. Andrianakis her order. It must be some sort of meat. I couldn't help but smell it on the ride; it kinda got me in the mood for sushi. I think I'll give Emily and some friends a call to meet up at Takahachi on 85th Ave. When Tommy and I would come to visit Emily, she would take us here all the time. I suppose the nostalgia trip is worth any potential reminder that Tommy is no longer with us.

"Thank you, Andrew! You are such a sweet boy to be helping Mr. Loukanis. You know he talks about you all the time, right?"

"Ah, thanks for the kind words Mrs. Andrianakis. I'm just happy to help!"

"Well," Mrs. Andrianakis pauses, "You are very much appreciated. Do you have plans? The family and I would love to have you for dinner tonight."

"Oh, thank you but I have one more package to deliver and then I am meeting some friends for sushi. Take care Mrs. Andrianakis! Enjoy your dinner!"

Coming to New York was a bit of a culture shock from the small town I'm from in Ohio. There are a lot of difficult to pronounce names but you soon get used to them. I remember when I first met Mr. Loukanis. He was an old friend of my moms. Tommy was maybe six when we first met and he could never say his name right. "Mistuh Wusankis" he would say. Mr. Loukanis never corrected him once. He is probably the kindest person I've ever met in my life and the people of New York seem to agree.

'Alright, this last package is for.....hmm. It doesn't say.' Surely, Mr. Loukanis forgot to put the name on here. I'll just go to the address listed. It's funny how a small, unassuming package wrapped in brown paper can be so...interesting. I don't know why but I can't stop thinking about this delivery; loose fitting string tied neatly into a knot makes me feel it was wrapped with care.

As I take to the streets on this nice, calm New York night, I am somehow reminded of the time Tommy broke his leg playing hide and seek with Emily and I. We got in so much trouble. It wasn't our fault he decided to hide in the attic and the floor gave in! Ok, so maybe I was the one to show him that hiding spot before. I think he was eight? Nine? The amount of times we took Tommy to the ER is uncountable; they all kinda just blur together. Nothing ever serious mind you! Well, except for the time...you know.

Tommy was probably the funniest and brightest smiling person I've ever met. He somehow had a way to make everything better just by making us laugh. That's probably what I miss most about him. You would think someone with his personality would be popular with the kids at school but Tommy would be bullied just like the rest of us. It really pissed me off, too. How could people be so hateful to someone so pure? Emily always said that they were just jealous. I suppose I agree with her.

We didn't really have a lot of friends, so Emily took the role of being our best friend growing up. She always stood up for us. After losing Tommy, she was the only person I could talk to. As I mentioned, my parents were always arguing. Even after Tommy passed, they just blamed each other and fought more. Riding my bike during their fights would calm me down. Tommy used to love riding his bike with Emily and I. He wanted to be one of those professional BMX riders. As a brother, I am obligated to say I support him (but between you and me, riding a bike is not for everyone). I say that while ignoring the fact that I just ran into the back of a truck with my bike.

"Sorry!"

"Ay, watch where you're going with that thing!"

"Yep, good advice. Thank you!"

The night is tranquil as I continue my route. The temperature is perfect for an evening outside. It reminds me of the summers back in Granville. There are a lot of parks in Granville that Tommy and I used to frequent with Emily. Tonight reminds me of those times like it was fresh in my mind. It's funny how certain things bring up certain memories. I haven't been to a playground in years but I somehow recall the feeling of sand or playground bark beneath my feet, as if I were standing on it right now.

As I make my last turn before reaching my destination, one last memory surfaces from the depths of my mind. Maybe it's just because of how much tonight has made me think of Tommy. Maybe it's this package. Maybe it's just too inevitable of a thought to not have from time to time. I used to think about it every minute of every day but since I've moved out here, I haven't thought about it nearly as often. Probably because school has had quite the hold on my mind. I never told my parents this but I always felt Tommy's passing was my fault. I had the virus first and I didn't take our quarantine procedures seriously. If I had, then maybe he would still be here.

Emily always tells me that I can't think like that. That it's an "unknowable and self-harming reality that I guiltily created in grievance." That's the psychologist in her I guess. I suppose she is correct though. When Tommy was sick, we would pass notes to each other between the crack under the door. It's amazing how he still held his sense of humor high. One of the last notes he gave me reminded me of how much he looked up to me. "It's not your fault. Tell 'Mistuh Wusankis' hello for me." He slid this note with his favorite shirt to me under the door. I laughed tearfully because it was my shirt he stole from me in the first place. When I moved to New York, I sent a bunch of stuff to myself to help me move. Unfortunately, some of it got lost. Including that note and shirt.

I've finally reached the address on the package. A tall apartment building but that's not unusual to see in Manhattan. I've not been in this building before. It's not the fanciest but it's also not the worst I've seen. As I wait for the elevator to reach the sixth floor, I look over my package. Still, I cannot find any names. Just the address and the apartment number. My curiosity is tempted to take a small peak as my fingers trace over the loose fitting string holding it together. It feels soft inside.

The elevator rings, signaling I've reached my floor. As I navigate the nicely decorated hallways, I feel that tonight was a good reminder; Emily was right. Getting lost in my schoolwork has made me forget what is important in life. As painful as it is recall Tommy's death, all of the positive memories make it worth it.

"Alright, 6F. Here we are." As I knock on the door, a surprising but familiar face opens. "Mr...Loukanis. What are you doing here? Is this your package?"

"No, Andrew. It's yours" says Mr. Loukanis, opening the door and revealing my cousin, Emily, as well.

"What's going on?" I confusingly ask as I nervously wait at the apartment door. "Why are you both here? Is this some kind of joke?"

Emily stands up, "No, Andrew. Mr. Loukanis and I decided to do something for you to show how much we appreciate you." She walks towards me with a key and motions me in.

I don't understand but I trust them and take the key and walk inside. The loft is very nice; it's decorated with pictures of...me and Tommy. I try to hand the package to Mr. Loukanis but he pushes it away and back into my arms.

"Andrew, my boy, this package is for you and so is this loft."

"Mr. Loukanis and I got you this loft for somewhere to stay close to school. It's not much but now you have a place all on your own. Take a look at the package, Andrew. It's from Tommy."

Maybe it's just the shock of this amazingly, undeserving gift but as she said that I trembled, staring down at the mysterious, unassuming package in my hands that I've been carrying all night. Again, I trace my fingers over the loose string and cautiously proceed to untie it. Normally, unwrapping a present brings me to a smile. However, I'm a little scared to see what's in it.

'This is from Tommy?' I think to myself. As I completely unwrap my package, I drop to my knees and cry. It's my shirt and Tommy's last note.

Tearfully, Emily explains how she found it mixed in a storage bin with my other belongings. I thought it was lost forever. Along with the shirt and note are pictures of Tommy and I, from the day he was born all the way up to the day before he finally got some rest. He was with me the entire night and he will be with me forever.

It's funny...even after death, he still knows how to make me smile.