Albert Kamus’ eyes grew all over his face as he stared at very unnerving scene in front of him. He blinked once, squeaked shrilly and turned back toward the door.
“No! Albert, please wait,” Mel said, disentangling herself from the huge box and the very dead, stuffed Morris. “I can explain.”
But she couldn’t explain, could she? And why should she? After all, it wasn’t her under treatment and the package came to her, she surely didn’t know what was in it before she opened it. Still, she was petting the very dead, stuffed Morris. How dumb was that? She almost giggled girlishly think about the movie by that name.
“I can come back.”
Poor Albert with the almost famous name. Melanie Rainwater, Mel for short, got up, dusted her nave-blue skirt off awkwardly and self-consciously as she walked over to her patient and place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. His reaction was not at all what she expected.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Was the gist of what Albert said, although she couldn’t be sure. He flung an arm backward as if to ward off his own personal demons and knocked Mel across the room where she fell on top of Morris and, to this day, she swears she heard him scream in pain as her falling body busted him open as one would a Mexican pinata. Albert had turned around to look at the very disarrayed Mel, skirt shoved past her hips, her red hair she had just had styled that morning for the Mayor’s swearing-in tonight completely ruined.
“Don’t just stand there, damnit Albert, help me up, I–”
But Albert just pointed at her and said, “Oh my,” before fleeing from whence he came. Slowly, Mel realized that when she broke Morris it had been full of something powdery and white and she was sitting in the middle of it. The tears then commenced.
This installment contributed by Jerry Bolton.
