The Mother Load

The Mother Load

Parts of the following story may be shocking, but for the sake of realism, I thought it best to be completely truthful about my feelings and the events of yesterday. That being said…

So a few days ago the old man came up to me in the plaza and handed me what has become my favorite thing on Earth. The little slip of paper that means I have a package waiting for me in Provencao, the big town on the other side of the mountain. I had been expecting The Shipment from my sister but had recently received devastating news from her that a low down dirty scoundrel in the employ of the United States Post Office had most likely absconded with The Shipment, and all its treasures. (Mailed almost a month ago, several of the magazines that had been inside the Shipment were returned to her mailbox, which likely means that The Shipment was opened on that side of the Atlantic.) Upon closer inspection of the little slip of paper, under SENDER, it said “PCM,” so I assumed at first it was from my dad. (We have the same initials.) Then I remembered that I had already received all the packages currently en route from my dad, so I concluded it was the book (International Development and You!) I ordered from Amazon. (Yup, they even ship to Cape Verde.) Anyway, cars had been hard to find lately, so I was content to wait a few days.

I finally made it to town yesterday. And, what I saw…what I saw when I got to Correios (Post Office). Well, it took my breath away. Winning the lottery, a trip to the Moon, X-Ray vision…even dethroning King George…nothing could have made me happier. (Except to have received The Shipment.) Even this morning, nearly 24 hours later, my head is still swimming with giddiness. It is literally impossible to overstate the size of the smile that I’ve been wearing since I saw it. The guy at the Post Office said to me “Bo ten boquat amigos, I oje, m’tk bastant trabaj.” (You have a lot of friends, and today I have a lot of work.) This he said this as he WHEELED IN A HUGE CART of packages. Spilling off the top of the pile of loot was the Amazon box and my boring book. Just beneath was a fat envelope with what I immediately recognized as my mother’s beautiful handwriting. Hallelujah, Amen. Below that, a stout little box with Ruidoso, New Mexico in the return address field…something from my dad after all! (And the Lord said, Let There Be Jerky!) The foundation of this tower of tidings was a mammoth, epic, titanically colossal crate of a box. I had to step back a bit from the counter to take it all in…to really appreciate the size of this big bastard. The poor post office guy was sweating…struggling with the immensity of the load. He would have used a forklift if he’dve had one. As he turned the tower, I saw a name. The name…was Bird. The long awaited, much anticipated Box. This from my friends in Austin. My dear, sweet, darling friends from Austin. And as everyone knows, friends from Austin are the very best kinds of friends to have.

It was The Mother Load. My eyes dilated and became huge black orbs. I was one of Pavlov’s dogs and the bell was ringing in my head. Gollum with The Precious. Dorian Gray with his Portrait. Butch with his Father’s Gold Watch. It was mine. All Mine. I may have had an erection. I Loved these boxes and packages and envelopes. I really loved them. Maybe this makes me a bad person. I hope not, cuz it’s true.

I couldn’t carry all of it at once, so sprinting like a track star to the pont do lavada (place where you try to find a car), I returned minutes later with Txiba and Sabino and their hiace. We loaded everything onto the top and then drove around town for another torturously long hour while they looked for more people to take to Chan di Igreja. It was all I could do to not open at least one thing…even the boring book. When I finally did make it home, all I wanted to do was open it all up, crawl inside the Box, among My New Things, and cover myself in a blanket of beef jerky and taco seasoning and guitar strings. But then Benvinda showed up.

She was there to talk about something important, which could not have come at a worse time. I was listening, and I was hearing sounds, but my eyes were darting back and forth between her and My Treasure. My Attention Divided. It must have been pretty obvious, because finally she stopped talking and smiled and said “Oi Keile…bo kre spreimenta ma bo caixas? (Oh Caley, do you want to see what’s in the boxes?) I nodded my head and she laughed and said “No be!” (Let’s Go!) I handed her a knife and she delicately slit the lid on my dad’s box while I shredded into my mom’s envelope. From Dad and Sandra there were bags and bags of delicious pepper, teriyaki, and classic style beef jerky, pounds of Juicy Fruit (to which my entire town is now addicted to and which they pronounce Choosey Foot), batteries, nuts, Jolley Ranchers, soy-sauce and Slim Jims (my new favorite thing). From Mom, among other things, was my desperately sought after book God of Animals (which is great by the way) guitar strings worth twice their weight in gold to me, taco seasoning, Jolly Ranchers, and the All-Important pictures of my growing niece and darling dog. The smell of candy and gum and meat and a new hardback book wafted through my kitchenette. Pure, Unadulterated Bliss.

I thought this would be enough to tide me over until I could talk to Benvinda, but (after explaining and experimenting with beef jerky) she gave me a wry smile and wink and nodded at the Box and said “Bo kre?” (You wanna?) “Uh huh.” Once again she used the knife to first delicately remove the brown paper wrapping, then folded it, then started to put the knife away until my impatience got the better of me and I tore the box open. Benvinda and I dove in. Inside? Oh Lawd, the Inside. Peanut Butter and Jelly granola, pizza flavored goldfish, huge jars of spices (Praise Be!), taco seasoning, tea, coffee, marinade packages, measuring cups and kitchen utensils (GOOD JOB!), pens, yo-yo’s (these will make me THE most popular kid in 5th grade), acres of gum, stickers, Snickers, decorations, party favors, candles, duct tape, paperbacks, a lufa brush, candy necklaces (these will also make me very popular), magazines, the Austin Chronicle, Newspapers, disks full of E-books, days and days worth of (impeccably selected) new music including, among countless others, the early works of Snow Patrol, Ghostland Observatory (Thank You!!), Lloyd Cole and the Commotions, Grand National (I’d never heard of them and they’re my new favorite band!), and unbelievably, the entire B.B. King discography (which I will cherish forever). There was also (God Love All Of You and Save You A Seat Next To His Throne)…Velveeta and Ro-Tel sauce and Santitas Mexican Style corn tortilla chips that, miraculously, arrived almost completely intact. Last night I explained yo-yo’s and Mexican Food and Personals Ads and Lufa Brushes to Benvinda, and she and I feasted on proper beef tacos with homemade tortillas and an impossibly delicious bowl of chips and Mexican queso, which I have not had in almost 5 months. Jeezuz.

There was also something Inside the Box that confused me at first. I pulled it out of the box and saw a tiny, battery operated, winged, pink dildo-esque sex toy in a clear plastic box that said Personal Massage Fan. What in the hell? Why in God’s name did my friends send me a pink massaging dildo? And, even if you wanted to, how would you use a dildo with little spinning wings on it? What were the implications? It looked very dangerous to me. Clearly my Friends from Austin were more sexually advanced than me. I was staring at it, chewing on some teriyaki beef jerky, trying to figure out how one might derive pleasure from such a device, when I heard Benvinda say “Uhhhhhh...oi Keile? Uhhhhhh…oi Keile, okie…esli?” (Um…Caley? Um…Caley, what is...this?”) I looked up and, realizing that I still had the pink dildo in my hands, quickly hid it behind my back. She registered my embarrassment and I followed her eyes to what it was that she needed me to explain.

It was a humongous plastic garbage bag full of pornography. Not your run of the mill pornography mind you. Not Playboy or Penthouse or something that some kids’ dads had hidden in boxes in the garage or under the bathroom sinks. No, this was Pornography on a whole other level. Nawty stuff. I watched in horror as Benvinda flipped through a Smorgasbord of Smut. I didn’t take in the titles, but did see flashes of 900 numbers, nurses doing aerobics, cheerleaders who forgot their bloomers that day, people pouring milk and other foodstuffs on themselves, Asian women practicing calisthenics. The most recent issue of “Sista: Coming in All Flavas” dropped out of her hands and on to the floor and I choked on my beef jerky. I stood there coughing, trying to think of something, but the only thing that came out was “Uhhhhhh.” Then, “Er... Benvinda, I did NOT ask anyone to send me pornography. I do NOT like to look at pornography! I don’t…that is not even mine. I don’t know what that is. What IS that?” I had said it in English, and as I made a mental note of that interesting little side-effect of the situation, I realized that I was waving the pink dildo around in the air as I spoke. Benvinda waitied. There was a very unpleasant look on her face.

In the end, the thing that saved me was the birthday card that my friends had made me and included in the Box. It is a very special card. It’s a 12 page affair, filled with short messages, and is made from colorful construction paper, tied together with bright and fuzzy pipe cleaners from the crafts store and adorned with stickers and patches and buttons and cut-outs and jellythings and sandcastles and little umbrellas that you put in your drinks when you are in Fiji. Also, at the end there is a picture of most of them bearing their bosoms and behinds to the camera. What a site for sore eyes. It was to this picture that I directed Benvinda as I repeated the words “Nhes amigos e malcriados!” (My friends are very misbehaved!) over and over again. I explained to her that they had gotten together and had a little party to put the Box together, and that there was probably drinking involved, and especially I pointed out Scott and his very white buttocks. I explained to her that Scott is VERY malcriado and has a pornography problem and habitually loves to purchase pornography and ship it internationally to unsuspecting volunteer bystanders. I explained that I ONLY read pornography for the articles.

She was of course, only kidding, as she is apt to do. I didn’t need the card to save me and I think she had a very fine time teasing me and making me think she was shocked or offended. At dinner I went through and translated all of the messages in my birthday card for her (most of them referencing the pounds and pounds of porn) and we laughed and talked about our friends. It was a really great night. The pink sex toy turned out not to be a Personal Massage Fan, but a Personal Message Fan. Ohhhh. It’s not intended for insertion at all. Instead, you can type messages into it and when you turn on the fan, the little fan blades magically light up to spell out whatever you typed into it. It’s REALLY cool, and I can assure you that, after Catch Phrase, this is the toy of the century. I tried it out on little Djonny after dinner last night, and I literally hypnotized him.

Anyway. To my wonderful Ma, and to Dad and Sandra, and to JW (who’s movie filled package arrived earlier and filled me with Joy) and my Friends from Austin, and Mrs. Christopher (the Bar-B-Q Souse arrived!) and Cousin Patti (who’s book is on the way) and Greg and most especially my sister (your package is here in Spirit!)…thank you SO much for thinking of me. There are very few creature comforts here, and a lot more homesickness than I acknowledge or will admit to. Sometimes I go almost crazy wanting to be near you all again. But those little slips of paper from the post office man are like best of big giant bear hugs from home, and now I understand why they’re called Care Packages. (They also mean I’m five years old and it’s Christmas Morning…every time.) Anyway, I can’t thank you guys enough. (Hopefully you’ve gotten a good chuckle at my expense out of this story at least.) Also, please know that I am very grateful, and that I feel well-provisioned, much-loved, and very, very happy today.

All My Love

Caley