This story is rated PG-13 and has a few curse words and adult themes, though nothing graphic. If you are easily offended, please do not read this story. None of the views the characters express are shared by myself. They are purely fictional.

This Piece is Original Fiction by Clark Waggoner.

(c)2009 Clark Waggoner

This is part two from the collection of stories posted exclusively, for now, on Hubpages. They are an as yet untitled, and center around an imaginary small town in Oklahoma and the lives of several families across generations as they live, dream, and die there. The stories each move in reverse chronological order. Links to the other parts are available below.

“I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you different.”

– Kurt Vonnegut

The Box from Sumatra

Or

My Four Days as a Federal Offender

By Tyler Wolfe & B. H. Jones

“Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows.”

– Galatians 6:7

(Original Fiction by Clark Waggoner)

The thing is Tyler means well.  Despite how he acts, he means well.  You have to keep that in mind.  He can’t rightly be called out and out mean or nothing, not if you look at all the time we’ve been friends.  I guess I should explain a few things to you, like how when I was fourteen Donna Brown wore a dress to church one Sunday—the kind a fella remembers.  That’s how it began.  Well, except that as much as it began with her in that dress, all white and clinging to her when she moved, it wasn’t really till I dreamed about her in that dress and me and her up in the balcony at church, behind the back pew, and her not even caring I was fourteen years younger that it really began. 

            So Tyler doesn’t mean disrespect to God or no one by saying I don’t belong in church.  He just thinks it’s a waste to go, since as he says, I go for the wrong reasons.  I tell him that I have to take my grandmother so she can play the organ, but he says that’s not so on account of her being able to be taken by my dad who goes anyway and can take her.  Maybe Tyler is right, maybe going to church for the wrong reasons is sorta like getting a hair cut when you don’t need it: a waste of valuable resources.  Tyler says his most valuable resource is his stock car, which can’t really run and also of course his grandma, who’s half blind and constantly high on the pot Tyler grows in the basement.  See Tyler and I have hung out since summer after seventh grade when we both got jobs at this car wash.  He got us fired the first day, for running a car through with the windows rolled down.  We had nothing better to do so we went back to his house and his grandma made us her famous cornflake cookies.  He showed me the basement too; it was the first time I ever saw or smoked pot.  So not only do I know all about his pot, which he can’t find out I mentioned by the way, but he knows about my obsession with Donna Brown—Touch Down Donna Brown.

            Now I work in the mail room at the post office.  I sort almost all the mail in town.  Trust me, it is easier than it sounds.  Right next door to the post office is Radial Tire Co. where Tyler works.  Like I said, he is not a bad guy, so when he steals sets of tires and then sells them half price to guys he met at the stock car races in Kellyville to fund the never-gonna-finish-restoration of that wreck of a car he inherited from his uncle.  His uncle, who died in the same wreck the car died in, was Tyler’s hero.  You have to understand, that is all there is for Tyler.  Me, I got lots more.  I not only got Tyler, but I also got my GED now, my dad and grandma, the post office, Donna of course, and probably even more people I can’t think of just now.  Tyler, well he just half has his grandma anymore, and then that dead stock car.  His parents left him here when they split town after the plant blew up.  Tyler says they left him on accident.  I would too.

            But anyways, Radial Tire Co. bought out old Edwin’s Tires which had been in the building next to the post office for like thirty-five years I think.  But when old Edwin died two years ago, his sons sold the store and inventory to a big company who came in, fancied up the show room like rich people shopped there, and doubled the prices on all of Edwin’s old tires.  Tyler somehow kept his job but has complained about the “sell out” ever since.  He is gonna get even with “the man” for charging so much, or so he says.  To tell the truth though, he makes more with his side business since the “sell out” then he could have ever made working for Edwin.

            I have been sorting mail at the post office ever since I got my GED last year.  See, I kind of dropped out of high school half-way through my senior year.  I dropped a couple months after Tyler got expelled for bringing a fake pipe bomb, which he didn’t have any way to blow up anyway, to school.  He just brought it to sell to some freshman who was gonna pay $200 dollars for it.

            Someone told on Tyler, and they evacuated the school.  We all had to move to the football stadium while two big black trucks full of swat guys came and took the bomb away.  After that kids sorta blamed me a little for what Tyler did and I didn’t much like school anymore anyway, just a bunch of long classes that made you do a lot of reading that I never saw a use in anyway, so I just quit going.  My dad made me get my GED though.  He said that if he didn’t my mom would come back to life just to kill him.  Now I guess it is good I got it, because it helped me get the job in the mail room which is where I found the box earlier today. 

So its last night, 8 o’clock, same time as always, I walk out the back door at work and look over at Brian’s car. His oil leak is getting pretty bad. It runs in front of the driver side door. I pace, I smoke. I clink the keys and change in my pocket rhythmically, counting the clinks to five and starting again. Brian comes out the back of the post office during my eighth cycle to five. Not bad, he’s taken longer. He lights a cigarette and grins at me as he walks across the parking lot. I stop clinking. I watch him wondering why he’s so happy. I wait.

“Why are you smiling like that? Want someone to think you’re coming out of the closet?” I have to pick on Brian to toughen him up, otherwise people would still pick on him like they did back at the car wash.

“Guess what came in the mail tonight.”

“What do you mean? For us? Probably nothing, unless the new seeds I ordered last week came.” Though they shouldn’t be here ‘til at least Thursday.

“No, not for me. For Donna.”

“For who? Donna Brown? Her again? Man, seriously, you are scary, ok? It was ok when you were like fourteen, but you aren’t even a teenager anymore since March.”

“I told you I talk to her at church sometimes, it’s cool. I mean, she is Denise’s twin sister.”

“So what? Like that means you aren’t stalking her, just cause her sister baptized you. She’s the youth minister. She baptizes all the kids at your church. She baptized me, f*** man.”

“Well anyways, she got a package, a box, all the way from Sumatra. What do you think she is getting from Sumatra?”

“Who was it from, and where the hell is Sumatra?”

“It’s from someone named S. Quintin, and Sumatra is on the other side of the world, an island I think. I remember Pastor Casey mentioned a mission there or something a few months ago.”

“S. Quintin? As in Shreve Quintin? Really? Well that’s something, no shit. Now what do you think he has to give to her after all this time?”

“Uhm, who’s Shreve Quintin again?”

Now at this point, you have to understand Brian. He is just slow in some ways. For example, he’s been going on and on about Donna for years, won’t even think of a girl his own age, even though he knows Donna is way, way too old, and will never, ever, ever be interested. He talks about her, thinks about her, and watchers her all through the sermon every Sunday. He even sorts mail watching specifically for her name, hoping to find something addressed to her, something I used to think was more silly than scary, but now he’s finally done it, he actually found something addressed to Donna, and it is something truly worth finding, and despite his obsession, he doesn’t even know who Shreve Quintin is! So I explained who Shreve was to him right then and there, and now I guess it falls on me to tell you as well. F*** I need a cigarette, ok, here we go.

Shreve Quintin, who is the uncle of Shelly Quintin, a girl a few years younger than us whose mail I wouldn’t mind rifling through, was a year behind Donna and Denise Brown and all three grew up within a few blocks of each other on the west side of town. Donna and Denise also had a younger brother, Dustin. He was two years younger than the twins and a year younger than Shreve, who was his best friend. And then, somewhere along the way during puberty, like every other guy in town, Shreve figured out that Donna was only the hottest girl in CreekCounty. The story goes that by the time Donna was prom queen her senior year, her date, and sweetheart, was Shreve. Donna graduated and went to college, as did Denise who went to Bible college and came back as a youth minister. All was picture-perfect until one day, not long before the glass plant blew up, Dustin ups and kills himself. He was in woodland park, a beautiful rose garden. He had a gun. He shot himself in the face, if you can believe it. They had to bury him closed casket it was so bad, f***. I don’t know why he did it either, never have.

Anyway, like the day after the funeral, Shreve suddenly disappeared, despite having a month earlier publicly announced his engagement with Donna. I don’t know what he said to Donna before he left, if anything. Donna dropped out of college in Norman, came back home to live with her mother, and enrolled in beauty school. She became a hair stylist, and like I said, Shreve was gone. Life went on like Shreve and Dustin had never existed, and as far as I know, nobody has seen or heard anything of Shreve since. So if Brian doesn’t get the significance of a box all the way from Sumatra from S. Quintin to Donna Brown..., well, like I said, if it weren’t for me, he’d be the jack ass of the entire town. Even so, now he’s in real trouble, for a federal offense. What I mean is when I met him at the car after our shifts last night, he had taken the damn box. I noticed it as I was telling him the same story I just told you. It was sitting in his back seat, in plain sight of anyone who wanted to see. I opened the door and picked it up to verify it was the box in question–it was.

“What the hell do you think you are doing with that?”

“It’s just Donna’s box from Sumatra. It’s not like I’m stealing someone’s mail.” He put out his cigarette and took the box from me.

“Yes you are, dumbass. Why is it in YOUR car? You have no right taking any of Donna’s mail out of the mail room, or have you completely lost your mind?” This made his smile darken a little with doubt. “Brian, man, from now on, when you think you want to commit a federal offense, at least have a f***ing reason before you actually do it.”

“I will give it to her tomorrow before work, personal delivery. I’m not going to keep it.”

“You better not if you want to keep your f***in’ job and stay out of jail.”

“Do you really think Donna, a Christian who goes to church every week, would really try to put someone in jail just ‘cause he special delivered her mail?”

“Yes, yes, absolutely! Not everyone is your grandma, man, people freak out when you cross lines you shouldn’t.” Brian was fumbling with his keys as I said this and dropped not only the keys in the oil gathering under his car, but the box as well. “Man, come on, don’t ruin it for crying out loud!”

So the last couple of days didn’t go exactly as I planned.  Starting with yesterday morning, I picked up Tyler on the way to work as normal.  And as soon as he got in he started complaining about the smell of motor oil from the box in the back seat.  He grabbed it, said it reeked and that I was going to end up getting raped in a jail by some stranger all over a stupid motor oil smelling box that belonged to some old lady at my church and that he wasn’t even going to care about me because someone as stupid as I was didn’t much deserve anything besides rape in jail.  I know he thinks that talking that way will make me act more like him, and that deep down or something I wish I could act more like him, but it doesn’t and I don’t.  So anyway, I am arguing with him instead of looking and end up rear ending the FirstChurch’s van which is being driven at the time by none other than Denise Brown, Donna’s sister.  I slammed the breaks, which sent Tyler lurching, before any real damage happened, but not before Tyler crushed the box between himself and the dashboard.  He wasn’t wearing a seat belt, but I couldn’t yell at him cause mine wasn’t buckled either and besides I hit my head on the steering wheel so I didn’t feel like yelling.  Tyler said it didn’t swell too bad, least not as much as I deserved he said.  We stumbled out of the car, and like I said the cars were basically ok, but the box was fairly crushed.  Denise asked if we were ok, and then said we should check our undercarriage cause she could smell oil.  Tyler, who was still holding the box, looked at it and just laughed.

            Later at work I was thinking about what Tyler said about Donna, and Dustin, and Shreve.  I figured that if Tyler was right and Shreve never got back in contact with Donna, which would explain why she got married to someone else 5 years ago, a year after I dreamed about her, and divorced again a year or two later.  The guy she married, Jack Honer, or Honer-Boner, as we called him, was a manager at Price Mart, the largest grocery store in town.  Hard to believe but he left Touchdown Donna Brown for a clerk from Price Mart whom he took off with to Wichita.  What was I saying? Oh yeah, see, I figured to myself that if Tyler was right, and I figured he was, then I better just get rid of it before it causes any more trouble.  What could a man possibly need to send a woman that he had avoided seeing for twelve years?  He broke off the engagement, what right had he to come back into her life now? 

            So I told Tyler my idea when we were getting high on break, and instead of agreeing with me, he got all preachy and asked who gave me the right to make decisions about Donna’s life, but he also said that the box smelled and looked so bad I couldn’t really give it to her like it was either.  So we decided to let it sit outside so it could air out overnight.  I didn’t want my dad to find it if I left it out ay my place, so Tyler said we could leave it at his place.  He said he would sit it in the cab of his stock car which doesn’t have windows anyways so it would be hidden but still exposed to the air.  I didn’t like it because his stock car sits in the street in front of his house where anyone who took the time to look close enough could grab the box.  But, in the end, it was better than any other place I could think of so I agreed.

            Then, this morning around eleven I woke up to the sound of heavy rain.  It hardly ever rains in July, but it rained like cats and dogs this morning.  I immediately thought of the box sitting in the open cab of Tyler’s stock car and called him.  He ran out in the rain only to find his car was gone and a notice on his front door from Revis Towing.  He called me back and told me what happened.  When I asked him how that could happen, he told me he had gotten a couple of warnings from the city, but never took them seriously. 

            The rain kept up all afternoon mostly.  I picked Tyler up an hour later, around noon, and we went to the Revis tow lot.  Tyler kept yelling at the guy saying how they had better tow his car back for him since it doesn’t run yet and they had no right taking it, seeing as how his grandmother owned the house it was in front of. 

Ok so, yesterday, at Revis, the f***ers said I had been repeatedly warned about my violating some abandoned vehicle bull shit code. Yeah I got some stupid notices, but it’s not abandoned, it’s in front of my goddamn house.

“Look guy, we just work for whoever pays us. We get a contract from the police, we go do a job. Nothing personal, but unless you want to pay your fine and retrieve your vehicle, you need to leave.”

“What am I supposed to do with it here? How am I gonna get back home? It doesn’t even have a radiator, or an ignition!”

“We do offer private towing services as well, and can tow your vehicle wherever you like, but all of our trucks are out till five o’clock.”

“Are you for f***ing real man?”

“You don’t need to cuss at me, our rates are reasonable, and we are not refusing your business, how would you like to pay your fine.”

“How much is it?”

“Five hundred dollars. It will cost another seventy-five to have it towed back to your place. Oh, and you can’t leave it in the street this time, either.”

“Bullshit, this is bullshit, Brian, this is bullshit, hear this? That’s a whole crop man, bullshit.”

“Tyler, just pay the money, we need the car.”

“You need the car man, you’re the one who f***ing stole someone’s mail.”

“Just shut up man.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt your little lovers quarrel, but maybe if you wouldn’t have left a broken down stock car on the street in a retirement community you could have saved yourself five hundred bucks. As it is, pay it or get out ‘cause I am tired of it already.”

So we paid him. What else could we do? Brian was freaking out, so I paid the guy. Brian runs out to the car, scared as shit the box was gone. The box was there all right, he didn’t have to worry about that, but it was now soaked with the continual drizzle that had come in through the empty windshield all day. I told him he had to let it dry out if he wanted to take it to Donna, but on the upside, the smell was almost gone. The box looked pathetic though, sagging and squished almost everywhere. The “S. Quintin” was almost all faded out. The “Donna Brown” which had shown so bold at first looked tired, and had streaked in the rain. The box now looked like maybe it had been sent years ago and had literally spent the last twelve years trying to reach Donna. Now, after spending the night in the rain in a broken down car, it was just too tired to try anymore.

“What do you suppose he sent her after all this time? What do you think he would say to her? Why now?”

“What do I know? I mean, damn dude, her brother killed himself. I am surprised they even try to talk. Has to bring Dustin to mind, ‘specially since Shreve never came back and made any new memories to speak of.”

“Why do you think he killed himself?”

“What do I know? Maybe he was crazy? Maybe he was lonely? Maybe he knew someone was gonna blow up the glass plant? Maybe he had a friend who stole mail and drove him crazy asking questions about things neither of them knew about or had a right to know about either. I asked my grandma about it the other day and she told me he left a suicide note that said no one was to blame.”

“Maybe Shreve knows something Donna doesn’t know. Maybe he’s never been able to get it off his chest. Maybe that’s what’s in this box. Maybe it took him a dozen years to be able to tell her. Maybe Donna needs to know what is inside this box.”

“Still, like it’s any of your business, and besides I thought you wanted to protect her from whatever Shreve and his package are up to, now you have to make sure she learns the truth?”

“I am gonna take it to her in the morning, before work.”

“You serious?”

“Yeah…”

“What if she says something?”

“I will just deal with it.” Sometimes Brian can surprise you. Once he figures out what he has to do, well, good luck stopping him, I learned a long time ago it wasn’t worth my time to interfere with Brian when he is on a mission. So he picks me up this morning same as always. The box is sitting there, in the back seat. It hardly smells at all now, but it is withered and nearly falling apart at the seams. I hop in and look at both him and the box. The look in his face says he is doing it, no matter what. He almost looks like my dad when he makes that face, f***er.

“You think of what you’re gonna say yet?”

“That there was a mix up at the post office.”

“No shit. You think?”

So he drove to Donna Brown’s place which, incidentally, is directly across the street from her parents. The whole time he stares silently ahead except for twice when he checks his hair twice in the mirror. When we pulled up, he put the car in park but left the car running. Without even looking at me, he hopped out with the box. He rang the doorbell, pushed his hair back, and waited. After a minute or two, Donna answered the door and invited him in. The door shut behind him. He came back out three minutes later, still as silent as he had been the whole way over.

“Well.”

“Well what?”

“Well, what did she say?”

“She said thank you, that she appreciated the special delivery. She also asked me if I was going to be in church Sunday because she would bring me some bread she is baking on Saturday to say thank you for my kindness.”

“No way man! You didn’t tell her you’d accept it did you?” He did not respond, “Did you?” By way of answering, Brian changed the subject.

“She opened the box.” I didn’t care that he was avoiding the question, I wanted to know.

“What was in it? What did he say? What did she say? Did she make you leave?”

“So you were the one that said S. Quintin was Shreve Quintin, huh smart guy?”

“What do you mean?” He was smiling that annoying little grin of his.

“I mean that in the box was a little plastic Jesus doll that sings ‘Oh Donna’ when you press its hand. Believe it or not, it still works perfectly somehow, and attached to it was a note from Shelly Quintin saying how she found this place that has hundreds of different songs you can load into plastic Jesus dolls so she sent Donna one. The note goes on to say the mission trip she is on is amazing, and thanks to Donna for recommending it, that Sumatra has been an great experience for her.”

“You are shitting me.”

“Nope.”

“The thing really sings when you squeeze its hand?”

“Yup.”

“You are giving me half that loaf of bread on Sunday, or I’m telling her what you did.”

(c) 2009 Clark Waggoner

This is part two from the collection of stories posted exclusively, for now,  on Hubpages. They are an as yet untitled, and center around the lives of several families across generations in a small town in Oklahoma. They move in reverse chronological order.  Part Three is coming soon.