The Delivery

"Skylar, hunny!" Came my mother's sing-song voice billowing out from the front doorway.

I lazily got up from my desk, pulling my earphones off and around my neck and sticking my head out of my bedroom's doorway so I could hear and see her, standing there in her pale blue uniform with a white apron on. All ready to head out to work.

My mother is a tall petite woman with a fair, even complexion and a pretty but stern featured face. It's her pale copper, wavy hair, cut into a long bob and her light blue eyes that make her stand out and popular amongst the male diner patrons and the envy of the women. It's also those features I inherited from her.

She works night shifts at the local 24 hour diner, in town, as a waitress. She could get a much better job, with all the degrees she has, if we had to move to any one of the bigger cities but she's not interested. It's not like we need the money anyway.

The father I never knew and don't hear my mother speak of, left us with enough money to put me through a private school, as well as for my mother to retire early at the ripe age of only 49. Yet, she refuses though. Something about people not needing to know our business, and in a small town that takes quite a bit of effort.

"Hey, Mom. You off to work?" I ask her already knowing the answer but I do it to let her know that I've both heard her and noticed that she's in her uniform.

"Yeah hun. Look, usual rules. Don't let anyone in while I'm not here. No going out without telling me...." She starts rapping off her house rules, as she always does on her way out the door. Half the rules I never get to hear because she's out the door even before she's finished her list. As she's about to close the front door, she stops and pops her head back in. "Oh, yes and dinner is in the oven. Please don't let it burn this time. I would also like to eat when I get home." She chuckles. Blows me a kiss and is gone.

We have a good relationship. The only things that bug me every now and then, when they do get mentioned, is her strict sense of wanting our lives to be private and the fact that she refuses, point blank, to tell me anything about my father. Nothing at all. I can tell it's not that she doesn't know who he is but it seems more that she doesn't want me to know who he is. Even on my birth certificate my father is recorded as "unknown".

By nature, I'm far too curious to not want to know and having just turned 14 and being as much of a teenager as I am. When something is off limits, it becomes even more enticing.

However, for now, I have a human science assignment I need to finish before Monday. So thoughts of my mysterious father will need to wait.

15 Minutes of solid research and writing about the human anatomy and my stomach reminds me that dinner is still busy cooking in the oven. I jump up and make my way towards the kitchen. I pull open the oven door and get hit with the warm smell of potato and garlic, making my stomach grumble even more. Switching the oven off and grabbing the oven mitts, I pull the very hot and steaming oven tray out which is filled to the brim with my mom's delectable cottage pie.

As I put the tray down on the counter, I hear the doorbell ring.

Odd, I thought. I sure wasn't expecting anyone. I saunter over, pull back the thin, purple, chiffon curtain and look through one of the windows that frame the front door.

Nothing. Hmmm. Not a soul outside. Odd, I think again and yet I still move to the door, unlock it and cautiously open it, just to make sure.

As I slide the door open, I poke my head out and confirm that there is in fact no-one there. There was, however, a smallish box sitting ever so neatly in the middle of our 'welcome' mat, right in front of the door.

I look around once more, making mental notes of our front yard, the driveway and even the neighbor's house across the street. No-one. Nothing, not even a cat or dog walking around. It's quiet.

I slowly bend down and pick up the box and make a quick re-entry back into the house. Closing the front door, I read the label on the box and to my surprise, it was addressed to me.

I turn the box over to check all its sides, looking for the sender's details. Hmmm. Odd. There aren't any. Who sends out packages without any sender details on it. DHL must be slipping up to allow something like that to happen.

With my curiosity burning me up from the inside and my stomach arguing with my throat for not sending anything down it, I decide to dish a plate of food before opening my newly delivered mystery box.

Plate in one hand and box in the other. I head back to the privacy of my room.

I end up chuckling to myself on the way as it seems my mother's over the top sense of privacy is indeed rubbing off on me.

I kick my door closed and go sit on my bed. I place my plate close to me, yet far enough out the way to place the mystery box directly in front of me.

As I fork a mouthful of hot food into my mouth, my eyes stare at this brown box with my name on it as if it's going to suddenly start talking to me, revealing its sender. Unfortunately, it's just a box, so it doesn't. With a humph from me, I begin to unravel it in between mouthfuls of food being forked into my mouth.

To my surprise, removing the brown wrapping revealed yet another, at first glance, uninteresting box. A smaller box. Jeez, Skylar! What were you expecting? A brightly coloured jack-in-the-box with a 'I know what you did last summer' note in the clown's hands? Really? I give myself an eye roll, then scoop the last of my food into my mouth and give this little box my full and undivided attention.

Due to all the tape on this little thing, carefully, I use my fork to rip at the tape that seems to be covering the entire box. Why someone would use so much tape is beyond me. Surely there's no need to tape the entire box like your sole purpose was to make sure the roll was finished by the time you were done. I roll my eyes once more.

After realizing that being careful wasn't going to work on this box, I let rip, not caring that the box itself was now being ripped to pieces in the places the tape addict had missed.

Finally! The box was finally open enough for me to see what was inside. If the sender details were inside then my bad, it no longer exists in big enough pieces to put back together.

Another look at this box's contents and I couldn't help but feel that the sender had a tweaked sense of humor. Wanting me to play pass the parcel. So many layers to this one little package.

There, in front of me, amidst the now shredded box was a thickish looking envelope, wrapped with just as much tape.

I let out a frustrated sigh. This person is seriously testing my determination, making me question my curiosity and pushing my patience all at the same time.

I look at the poor fork who's prongs are now all bent out of shape from the previous box de-taping, with pity in my eyes and slide off my bed and head back into the kitchen for a pair of scissors.

I yank impatiently on the cutlery drawer and rummage around for a pair of scissors. I straighten up, annoyed. Great! No scissors. Looking around the kitchen while again not so gently closing the drawer, I spot a serrated steak knife standing to my attention in the dish rack next to the sink.

"You should work." I say to the knife as I walk over to the sink.

Once back in my room, I bounce myself onto my bed and into position to attack this taped up envelope which has bounced far enough away from me to stretch a fully extended arm out to retrieve it. 

The attack begins... 

With a little more excitement, I find that the envelope is the package's last defense. 

Inside is a handwritten letter, not in the best of handwritings but at least I don't need a deciphering code to read it, as well as a memory stick. 

I look at the two items and then back at all the tape which now lays there looking like I've just unpacked an entire household worth of boxes. Really? For a note and a stick? 

Feeling disappointment take over the excitement, I put the memory stick down on my bed and unfold the single paged letter which I can see starts with "My Dearest Skylar". This had better be good after all that effort. If it's one of Nathan's pranks, he's a dead man. 

Nathan is one of my best friends, besides Mila and Cheyenne. At school, we are inseparable. Even changing our subjects around just so we can all be in the same classes together. Nathan being the only guy in our little possie but by no means the least bitchiest. His last boyfriend broke up with him, complaining that he's too much to handle. He loves his practical jokes and is forever on the lookout for his next opportunity to candid camera someone. 

I chuckle at the thought of my crazy friend and then look back at the letter in my hand. 

"You're still a dead man, if this is from you." I state out a loud. Still chuckling.