Parcel

On tenterhooks, I wait for the postie to arrive.

It’s been weeks since I placed the order and I received a delivery notification this morning, stating that my parcel will arrive today.

At various times throughout the day, I realise I’m holding my breath. I relax, let it out in a whoosh and take a number of deep, calming breaths.

While I’m still focussing on centring myself, I hear the buzz of the Australia Post motorbike, like a huge bee is overhead. My heart hits the floor in a sudden understanding that the moment has arrived. No turning back. My feet propel me to the gate to wait.

‘Hello Mr Postman,’ I say as he stops at my letterbox. I’m a little out of breath. ‘Beautiful day.’

He nods with a smile, and says something I can’t hear over his bike. Doesn’t matter anyway. Ordinary conversations have no place in this day.

He rushes off, I fly indoors, ripping the packaging tape apart as I go. Kicking the door shut behind me, I collapse on the carpet and pull the box open.

I sigh with relief.

At the dining table, I assemble the parts.

When I’m dressed and ready, I walk to the bus stop. Careful steps, slow and deliberate, take me from home to the main street. I don’t sit at the stop, nor do I sit when I’m on board. I get off at the local primary school, amble past the volunteers thrusting their pamphlets in my face. I join the queue.

Fidgeting and huffing with impatience, the line crawls towards the front, where there’s a table with five or six more volunteers ready to cross my name off the list. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, until a woman becomes free. She lifts her head, we make eye contact and she calls me to her.

The woman asks me the questions. I respond truthfully. Not that it matters. She then gives me the papers and tells me what to do with them. I’ve done this before. I don’t listen. Again, it won’t matter.

I anticipate what I’m about to do will be a catalyst for huge change.

As I walk towards the cardboard polling booths, I press the button in the cuff of my jacket and I wait. I pick up a pencil and stand still, erect. In just five seconds the bomb will explode.

I am a martyr for the cause.

Photo by Bench Accounting on Unsplash