The Package

 The package was delivered at twenty past twelve on a mild June afternoon.  Assistant Professor Harry Elkins was eating tuna on rye in his office on the second floor of the computer science building and staring out the window at the few wispy clouds in an otherwise clear sky while thinking of his girlfriend Helen who was spending the summer doing research in Florence for her dissertation in art history.  If she were with Harry in Pittsburgh, she would pester him to see something in the cloud formation – a unicorn or a tulip or a pair of scissors.  He would refuse, reminding her that the brain tries to make meaning of random information by forming patterns even when, as in this case, no such meaning exists. 

“Hope it’s something good, like maybe a homemade cake,” Carl the mailroom guy said as he placed the package carefully on Harry’s desk. 

“I doubt it,” Harry said.  “No one I know would send me a homemade cake.”

“Well, maybe it’ll be something even better,” Carl said on his way out.

Harry studied the package which was about the size of a shoe box.  It was wrapped in thick brown paper which was carefully folded and tightly taped at the sides.  His name and office address were written in bold black ink.  There was no return address. The postal markings were illegible.

• Recognizing Helen’s handwriting, Harry greedily tore open the package.  Inside was a pair of pink lace panties and a note from Helen that said, “I wore these for a week straight.  I want you to smell me.”  Harry buried his face in the panties and inhaled Helen’s scent.

OR

• Harry couldn’t be positive, but the handwriting looked like it was his mother’s.  He couldn’t remember the last time she had sent him anything.  He opened the box and was surprised to see a photograph of a cat he did not recognize affixed to a box from a pet crematorium.

OR

• The handwriting was familiar, but Harry couldn’t place it.  Once he opened the box and saw the rare Pokemon cards, he knew it was from his former colleague Hideo, thanking him for his help in landing a tenured position at UCLA that Harry himself had coveted.

OR

• The unfamiliar handwriting on the outside of the package matched the red scrawled notes across every page of every article Harry had ever published.  An accompanying note from somebody named Nelson Newberry accused Harry of plagiarism and falsifying data.  A detailed response was requested in thirty days or Nelson would go public.

OR

• The handwriting belonged to a local baker.  Inside the package was Harry’s favorite dessert, a gorgeous carrot cake.  There was no note saying who sent it.

OR

• The handwriting was the last thing Harry would see.  The package exploded the moment Harry ripped it open, taking off eight of his fingers and blinding him in both eyes. 

Six possible scenarios.

A roll of a die.

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Barry Perlstein lives in Los Angeles where he writes short fiction when he is not following from afar Philadelphia sports teams or hiking the local hills.