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I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again."
She gave up and
sat down, this time nearer the table
that supported the telephone.
"Maybe he'll
call." she said to Sheila's glance.
Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After
last night, I thought maybe you'd be
through with him
." "I know what you
mean, my
G-d, he was like an octopus. Hands
all over the place."
She gestured,
raising her arms upwards in defense.
"The thing is after a while, you
get tired of
fighting with him, you know, and after all he
didn't really do anything
Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him,
you know what I mean."
She
started to scratch. Sheila was giggling
with her hand over her mouth.
"I'll tell you, I feel the same way, and even
after a while," here she
bend forward
in a whisper, "wanted to," and now
she was laughing very loudly.

It was at this point that Mr. Jameison of the
Clarence Darrow Post
Office rang the door bell of the large colored
stucco frame house. When
Marsha
Bronson opened the door, he helped her
carry the package in. He had his
yellow and green slips of paper signed
and left with a fifteen cent tip
that
Marsha had gotten out of her mothers
small beige pocket book in the den.
"What do you think it is?" Sheila asked
. Marsha stood with her arms
folded
behind her back. She stared at the brown
cardboard carton that sat in
the middle of the living room: "I don't know."

Inside the package Waldo quivered
with excitement as he listened to the
muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail
over the masking tape that ran
down
the center of the carton. "Why don't you look
at the return address and
see who it is from?" Waldo felt his heart beating.
He could feel the
vibrating
footsteps. It would be soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and
read the ink-scratched label. "It's
from Waldo." "That schmuck!" said Sheila
. Waldo trembled with expecta-
tion. "You might as well open it," said Sheila.
Both of them tried to
flip the stable flap. "Ah," said Marsha groaning.
"He must have nailed
it shut." They
tagged at the flap again. "My God
, you need a power drill to get this
thing opened." They pulled again.
"You can't get a grip!" They both
stood still,
breathing heavily. "Why don't you get the scissors,"
said Sheila. Marsha
ran into the kitchen, but all she could find
was a little sewing
scissors. Then she
remembered that her father kept a
collection of tools in the basement.
She ran downstairs and when she came back
, she had a large metal cutter
in her
hand. "This is the best I could find.
" She was out of breath. "Here, you
do it. I'm gonna die." She sank into
a large fluffy couch and exhaled
noisily.
Sheila tried to make a slit between the
masking tape and the end of the
cardboard, but the blade was too big and there
was not enough room.
"G-damn this thing!" she said feeling v
ery exaspe- rated.
Then smiling
"I got an idea." "What?" said Marsha. "Just watch,"
said Sheila touching
her
finger to her head.

Inside the package, Waldo was transfixed
with excitement that he could
hardly breathe. His skin felt prickly from the
heat and he could feel
his heart
beating in his throat. It would be soon.
Sheila stood upright and walked
around to the other side of the package.
Then she sank down to her
knees,
grasped the cutter by both hands, took a deep
breath and plunged the
long blade through the middle of the package,
through the middle of the
masking
tape, through the card- board through the
cushioning and (thud) right
through the center of Waldo Jeffers head
, which split slightly and
caused little
rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate
gently in the morning sun...