He hadn’t noticed the package the night before. It could have been delivered in the unknown quantity of hours since he had tossed and turned in bed, tortured by a dream that felt more like a memory. Was that why he was still so tired? He wondered how long he would need to sleep before he felt like his consciousness had stabilized. Either way, last night hadn’t been enough.

It was the only package in the dimly lit entryway to the building. Not particularly large, but big enough that it was unlike him to not at least check to see if it was his. At the same time, it looked like it had sat there for a long time. When he bent down to pick it up, he saw that there was a bit of dust that had collected on the top of it. It must have arrived while he had been out voyaging aimlessly.

There was no return address. He picked up the box, and found that he could no longer remember what purpose had drawn him out of his apartment in the first place. He turned and took the stairs two at a time back up to his apartment.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Inside the box was a smaller parcel wrapped in crinkly brown paper, and tied with butcher’s twine. His fingers fumbled to untie the small bow that had been knotted over twice. With more care than was required, he pulled back the paper to reveal an all too familiar object.

He had thought that he would never see this painting again. It was his childhood home, adorned and subsisting within vibrant flowers and vines. Calvin studied the familiar, intricate detail in each petal, but the reason he found himself holding the painting so tight, worried to let it go for a moment, was who had painted it.

His hand was slowly tracing the bottom of the frame when his finger dislodged a small card that fell onto the table face down. All at once, he was back on her doorstep, hand extended, unsure if he should knock or not.

He turned it over, and saw five lines written in Clara’s neat handwriting.

Calvin, my parents said that this showed up on their doorstep after Thanksgiving. I don’t know if this has something to do with what happened between us. If so, I refuse the return as it was first and foremost a gift. Don’t turn it into anything more than that. Put it up on your wall, and move on.

-- C.