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A package arrived in the mail. There was no return address. I
did not recognize the handwriting. I was beyond curious. The
parcel was smaller than a toaster oven but bigger than a
breadbox, I noticed it as soon as I stepped out of the
elevator. I hadn’t ordered anything online; my birthday had
passed, and I wasn’t expecting any packages. My too-nosy
super, while vacuuming the corridor on my floor, informed me
that he saw UPS leave it a short while ago. The box was
wrapped in plain manila paper, string-tied instead of being
taped closed, filled with real postage stamps rather than post
office generated print outs.

Propped against my door on the threshold to my apartment it
exuded a strong whiff of the unknown, mysterious and
whispers of possible past events. Even without my glasses, I
spotted a black marking pen block printed address (mine) in
the “To” quadrant and some indecipherable scribbling in the
“From” quadrant.

Hmmmm…I unlocked the double locks on my door; top lock to
the left (twice) and bottom lock to the right, (once) and
quickly stepped in, rushing to disarm the security system
before the strident beeping noise shattered the tranquility.

Smiling his “know it all grin, “Glenn-the-super reminded me
once again, “I told you Spider man doesn’t visit here. He’s not
about to climb the outside walls or scale your balcony; You
don’t really need that alarm.” I once again thanked him for his

advice, but then again, he doesn’t really know me or my
reasons for installing the device in spite of the ubiquitous
security cameras.

I retrieved my package from the door, cautiously cradling the
bulky but light package as I carried it into the kitchen. I
listened for sounds; was it ticking, shaking with loose parts?
Was I going to place it next to the sink in case it was a bomb,
or should I open it in front of the window in case it carried
toxic fumes?

No ticking, “probably not an explosive,” I thought.” “No loose
parts either,” I mentally added. “OK, in front of the open
window, just in case.”

Why was I so paranoid? If I told you about my other life, I
would be compelled to permanently neutralize you, therefore,
paranoia is normal and second nature for me, even now.

Reaching for my powerful magnifying glasses, I carefully
examined the wrapping. No visible extraneous marks except
for post office markings. The hand-written address, typical of
the uniform French handwriting, was boldly and emphatically
inked in all capital letters.

Stamps: “Aha, foreign stamps…French stamps attesting to
patriotic events and deeds of a variety of moribund Generals.”
Mailed from a tiny town in the middle of France…name vaguely
familiar, but resembling so many in central France, I couldn’t

quite place it, but it jingled distant memory chords. Had I
known anyone there? Had I ever visited this place in my
rambling journeys that crisscrossed France?

I reached for a pair of thin rubber gloves, sliding them over
my rings carefully. I examined the return address, realizing
that it was mostly gibberish but followed the conventional
three- or four-line format. I stood there for several seconds,
fighting my conflicting thoughts. Should I, child that I was
once and still am, cut the twine, rip the wrapping and dive into
the box or ….?

Having no answers for whether I still retained my childhood
sense of expectancy or assume a mature sense of caution. I
decided that although I was no longer a child, and, as a
sophisticated and cautious me, I carefully cut into the twine,
disengaging it from the box. The package lay there,
mysterious, provocative, inviting me for further exploration.

OK…now for the paper. I slipped off the wrapping paper; still
no ticking, or moving parts, just a large white unmarked box,
with its sides taped so that the top couldn’t detach from the
bottom. I reached for my scissors, held them for a moment,
and then, plunging ahead, slit the taped sides so that I could
remove the top.

I would have liked to distance myself from the box, but my
arms were too short for me to detach the top from any
distance, therefore, holding my breath, I carefully removed

the top from its bottom. Inside, bubble wrapped on the top,
tissue wrapped inside its protective outer wrap laid a square,
flat object.

I caught my breath, this package, a visitor from the past, now
began to exhort me to continue unwrapping it. It whispered,
its tone rising in urgency, “Depechez-vous!” (Hurry up!)

I ripped off the bubble wrap, tore apart the tissue paper
staring, at this tangible reminder of other days. Who could
have sent it? How did they know I was now here?

I carefully picked it up, turned it over; the reverse side still
contained the identifying marks made long, long ago. I traced
the outlined and even through my gloved hand, could feel the
seared marks permanently stamped on my soul. I sighed, filled
with memories, relief, and gratitude.

These faded, sepia toned papers and documents which I
pursued in my other life was a tangible reminder of happier
moments and ceremonies. Like me, it was, indeed, a survivor.

I walked to my bedroom, opened the closet and twiddling the
dials on the safe in my closet, I withdrew a burgundy leather
notebook, rifled through the pages until I found the listed
item. Some of the items were sketchily described, others in
more detail. Some of the items had possible monetary values
attached but most did not. And there it was, on the last page.
The handwriting in the notebook corresponded to the

description and markings on the back of my newly found
treasure. I entered today’s date, returned the notebook to
the safe and closed the door behind me.

As I walked back to the kitchen, I wondered Who, Where,
How, Why. All too well, I knew the When. However, that was
in other times, and in my past life. My mission was completed
with the receipt of this no longer mysterious object, finally
coming home to me.

I will look over my shoulder forever, be mistrustful of
unsolicited packages forever, and forever secretly laugh at
Glenn’s genuine but naïve concern for my paranoia, although
even paranoids have the right to their justified and
unjustified fears and curiosity didn’t harm this cat.