The Box

The box arrives without warning, the ring of the doorbell startles you.

You were warned, warned it would come today. She told you not to forget, warned you, warned you to watch out, listen for the bell.

The DHL driver says hello, or something similar. What language was it? He thrusts the box towards you as if it’s a hot potato. It’s raining cats and dogs. You haven’t found your balance yet. He balances on the doorstep, box in one hand, phone in the other. 

The box is huge. He doesn’t pull back, but thrusts it closer. Flashing through your mind — is it heavy? need to use two hands? don’t drop it! She warned you, don’t drop it on the floor.

Goodbye, and he’s gone. You struggle back in, wondering what had happened. Did you see his face? Did he look you in the eye? Damn it, the box is wet, you could have known, been warned.

You put the box down on the doormat, let it dry there. Get a cuppa first. Open it later. 

Ah yes, coffee. She’d warned you the machine was broken, no coffee yesterday.

Must open the box first. Open a drawer for a kitchen knife. Coffee on the way!