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The Gift- By The Velvet Underground
The Gift
By Lou Reed/Velvet Underground
Transcribed by Windmill
Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit.
It was now mid August, which meant he had been separated from Marsha
for more than two months. Two months--and all he had to show were three dog-
eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls. True, when
school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin, and he to Locust
Pennsylvania, she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would date
occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful.
But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at
nights. And when he did he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night;
tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilt protector. Tears welling in
his eyes as he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the
smooth soothings of some Neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses
of sexual oblivion.
It was more than the human mind could bear. Visions of Marsha's
faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his
thoughts. And the thing was, THEY wouldn't understand how she really was.
He, Waldo, alone understood this. He had intuitively grasped every nook and
cranny of her psyche. He'd made her smile. She needed him; and he wasn't
there. (awwwwwwwwwwwwww)
The idea came to him on the Thursday before the [...] parade was
scheduled to appear. He'd just finished mowing and edging the Anderson's lawn
for a dollar-fifty, and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a
word from Marsha. There was nothing but a circular from the Amalgamated
Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs. At least they
cared enough to write. It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in
the mails. Then it struck him. He didn't have enough money to go to
Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, but why not mail himself?
It was absurdly simple; he would ship himself parcel post, special
delivery.
The next day, Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary
equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium-sized cardboard
box just right for a person of his build. He judged that with a minimum of
jostling, he could ride quite comfortably. A few air-holes, some water, a
[...] midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as going tourist. By
Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed, ant the Post
Office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock. He'd marked the package
fragile, and as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam rubber cushioning
he'd thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness
on Marsha's face as she opened her door, saw the package, tipped the
deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She
would kiss him and then maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of
this before! Suddenly, rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself
borne up. He landed with a thud in a truck, and was off.
Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very
rough weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been
nice about it, though. After it was over, he said he still respected her;
and after all, it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no, he
didn't love her, he did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were
grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo! But that seemed many years
ago.
Sheila Klein, her very, very, very best friend, walked in through the
porch screen door and into the kitchen.
"Oh, God! It's absolutely maudlin outside."
"Ech, I know what you mean. I feel all icky." Marsha tightened the
belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge.
Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table,
licked her finger and made a face. "I'm supposed to be taking these salt
pills, but," she wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing up."
Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd seen
on television. "God, don't even talk about that." She got up from the table
and went to the sink, where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins.
"Want one? Supposed to be better than steak." and then attempted to touch her
knees.
"I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again." She gave up, and sat
down, this time nearer the small table that supported the telephone. "Maybe
Bill'l call." she said to Sheila's glance.
Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After last night, I thought maybe you'd
be through with him."
"I know what you mean. My God, he was like an octupus, hands all over
the place." She gestured, raising her arms upward in defense. "The thing is,
after a while you get tired of fighting with 'em, you know. And after all, I
didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday, so I kind of owed it to him.
You know what I mean." She started to scratch.
Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth. "I tell you, I felt
the same way. And even after a while," here she bent forward in a whisper, "I
wanted to." And now she was laughing very loudly.
It was at this moment that Mr. Jameson, of the Clarence Darrow Post
Office, rang the doorbell of the large,[...] colored frame house. When Marsha
Bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his
yellow and his green slips of paper signed, and left with a fifteen-cent tip
that Marsha had gotten out of her mother's small beige pocketbook in the den.
"What do you think it is?" Sheila asked.
Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. She stared at the
brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room. "I don't
know."
Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to
the muffled voices.
Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the
center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the return address and see who
it's from?"
Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating footsteps.
It would be soon.
Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label.
"Ah, God! It's from Waldo!"
"That schmuck!" said Sheila.
Waldo trembled with expectation.
"Well you might as well open it." said Sheila, and both of them tried
to lift the stapled flap. "Arrrr..." said Marsha, groaning, "he must have
nailed it shut." They tugged on the flap again. "My God! You need a power
drill to get this thing open." They pulled again. "You can't get a grip."
They both stood still, breathing heavily.
"Why don't you get a scissors?" said Sheila.
Marsha ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a little
sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools
in the basement. She ran downstairs, and when she came back up, she had a
large sheet metal cutter in her hand. "This was the best I could find." She
was very out of breath. "Here, you do it, I think I'm gonna die." She sank
into a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily.
Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of
the cardboard flap, but the blade was too big and there wasn't enough room.
"God damn this thing!" she said, feeling very exasperated. Then, smiling,
"I've got an idea!"
"What?" said Marsha.
"Just watch." said Sheila, touching her finger to her head.
Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he
could barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat and he could feel
his heart beating in his throat. It WOULD be soon.
Sheila, stood quite upright and walked around to the other side of the
package. Then, she sank down to her knees, grasped the cutter by both
handles, took a deep breath and plunged the long blade through the middle of
the package, through the masking tape, through the cardboard, through
the cushioning and right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head, which split
slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the
morning sun.
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