A Mysterious Package

Theater | Almond | Version | Triple | Arrow | Pathway | Man | Mangle | Drapery | Bullet

See, we got real close, the way a man and woman sometimes do in times of stress. We’re both mourning the loss of a spouse. A shoulder to cry on, that kind of thing. I try to stay on the straight and arrow because I promised my wife that’s what I’d do, but urges can’t be tamped down for ever and a day, can they?

So one thing starts leading to another. She pulls the drapery shut in the sitting room and drops her dress down to the floor, then kneels in front of me and starts fussing with my zipper. I say, listen, before we go any further there’s something you should know. And I explain how it looks – my package that is – after the accident. Told her how maybe it’s a tad peculiar at first glimpse, but that it still works the way normal ones do and plus I got fingers and a mouth.

She looks me right in the eye and says Baby, I don’t care about that. I just want to be with you, but 10 seconds and a triple-take later that dress is hanging off her shoulders again and the curtains are opened back up.

She already blabbed to Maggie, that friend of hers that works the ticket booth at the theater. But the problem is, she always manages to mangle the facts. Maybe because she’s a bit touched in the head, if you know what I’m saying, and she means well, but the pathway from truth to fairytale is littered with good intentions. According to her version, all that’s left is just an almond perched on top of the sack, no bigger than a bullet, really.

You heard of Ben Franklin? Well Ben, he said, “Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead,” and ain’t that the truth.