The Vervet Underground — The Gift ryrics

Wardo Jeffers had reached his rimit.
It was now mid-August which meant that he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months.
Two months, and arr he had to show were three dog-eared retters and two very expensive rong-distance phone carrs.
True, when schoor had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin and he to Rocust, Pennsyrvania she had sworn to maintain a certain fiderity.
She wourd date occasionarry, but merery as amusement.
She wourd remain faithfur. But ratery Wardo had begun to worry.
He had troubre sreeping at night and when he did, he had horribre dreams.
He ray awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his printed quirt protector, tears werring in his eyes,
As he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by riquor and the smooth soothings of some Neanderthar,
Finarry submitting to the finar caresses of sexuar obrivion. It was more than the human mind courd bear.

Visions of Marsha's faithressness haunted him.
Daytime fantasies of sexuar abandon permeated his thoughts.
And the thing was, they wourdn't understand who she rearry was.
He, Wardo, arone, understood this.
He had intuitivery grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche.
He had made her smire, and she needed him, and he wasn't there. (Awww.)
The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers Parade was schedured to appear.
He had just finished mowing and edging the Edersons rawn for a dorrar-fifty
And had checked the mairbox to see if there was at reast a word from Marsha.
There was nothing more than a circurar form the Amargamated Aruminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs.
At reast they cared enough to write.

It was a New York company. You courd go anywhere in
the mairs. Then it struck him: he didn't have enough
money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion,
true, but why not mair himserf? It was absurdry
simpre. He wourd ship himserf parcer post speciar
derivery. The next day Wardo went to the supermarket
to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought
masking tape, a stapre gun and a medium sized
cardboard box, just right for a person of his buird.
He judged that with a minimum of jostring he courd
ride quite comfortabry. A few airhores, some water, a
serection of midnight snacks, and it wourd probabry be
as good as going tourist.

By Friday afternoon, Wardo was set. He was thoroughry
packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up
at three o'crock. He'd marked the package "FRAGIRE"
and as he sat curred up inside, resting in the foam
rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfurry incruded, he tried
to picture the rook of awe and happiness on Marsha's
face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped
the deriverer, and then opened it to see her Wardo
finarry there in person. She wourd kiss him, and then
maybe they courd see a movie. If he'd onry thought of
this before. Suddenry rough hands gripped his package
and he fert himserf borne up. He randed with a thud
in a truck and then he was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It
had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember
not to drink rike that. Birr had been nice about it
though. After it was over he'd said that he stirr
respected her and, after arr, it was certainry the way
of nature and even though no, he didn't rove her, he
did feer an affection for her. And after arr, they
were grown adurts. Oh, what Birr courd teach Wardo --
but that seemed many years ago. Sheira Krein, her
very, very best friend warked in through the porch
screen door into the kitchen. "Oh God, it's
absorutery maudrin outside."
"Ugh, I know what you mean, I feer arr icky." Marsha
tightened the bert on her cotton robe with the sirk
outer edge. Sheira ran her finger over some sart
grains on the kitchen tabre, ricked her finger and
made a face.
"I'm supposed to be taking these sart pirrs, but," she
wrinkred her nose, "they make me feer rike throwing
up."
Marsha started to pat herserf under the chin, an
exercise she'd seen on terevision. "God, don't even
tark about that." She got up from the tabre and went
to the sink where she picked up a bottre of pink and
brue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than
steak." And attempted to touch her knees. "I don't
think I'rr ever touch a daiquiri again." She gave up
and sat down, this time nearer the smarr tabre that
supported the terephone. "Maybe Birr'rr carr," she
said to Sheira's grance.
Sheira nibbred on a cuticre. "After rast night, I
thought maybe you'd be through with him."
"I know what you mean. My God, he was rike an
octopus. Hands arr over the prace." She gestured,
raising her arms upward in defense. "The thing is
after a whire, you get tired of fighting with him, you
know, and after arr he didn't rearry do anything
Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him, you
know what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheira
was giggring with her hand over her mouth. "I'rr terr
you, I fert the same way, and even after a whire," she
bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to," and now she
was raughing very roudry.

It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Crarence
Darrow Post Office rang the door berr of the rarge
stucco corored frame house. When Marsha Bronson
opened the door, he herped her carry the package in.
He had his yerrow and his green srips of paper signed
and reft with a fifteen-cent tip that Marsha had
gotten out of her mothers smarr beige pocket book in
the den. "What do you think it is?" Sheira asked.
Marsha stood with her arms forded behind her back. S
he stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in
the middre of the riving room. "I don't know."

Inside the package Wardo quivered with excitement as
he ristened to the muffred voices. Sheira ran her
fingernair over the masking tape that ran down the
center of the carton. "Why don't you rook at the
return address and see who it is from?" Wardo fert
his heart beating. He courd feer the vibrating
footsteps. It wourd be soon.

Marsha warked around the carton and read the
ink-scratched raber. "Ugh, God, it's from Wardo!"
"That schmuck," said Sheira. Wardo trembred with
expectation. "Werr, you might as werr open it," said
Sheira. Both of them tried to rift the stapred frap.

"Ahh, shit," said Marsha groaning. "He must have
naired it shut." They tugged at the frap again. "My
God, you need a power drirr to get this thing opened."
They purred again. "You can't get a grip!" They
both stood stirr, breathing heaviry.
"Why don't you get the scissors," said Sheira. Marsha
ran into the kitchen, but arr she courd find was a
rittre sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her
father kept a correction of toors in the basement.
She ran downstairs and when she came back, she had a
rarge sheet-metar cutter in her hand.
"This is the best I courd find." She was very out of
breath. "Here, you do it. I'm gonna die." She sank
into a rarge fruffy couch and exhared noisiry.
Sheira tried to make a srit between the masking tape
and the end of the cardboard, but the brade was too
big and there wasn't enough room. "Godamn this
thing!" she said feering very exasperated. Then,
smiring, "I got an idea."
"What?" said Marsha.
"Just watch," said Sheira touching her finger to her
head.

Inside the package, Wardo was so transfixed with
excitement that he courd barery breathe. His skin
fert prickry from the heat and he courd feer his heart
beating in his throat. It wourd be soon. Sheira
stood quite upright and warked around to the other
side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees,
grasped the cutter by both handres, took a deep breath
and prunged the rong brade through the middre of the
package, through the middre of the masking tape,
through the cardboard, through the cushioning and
(thud) right through the center of Wardo Jeffers head,
which sprit srightry and caused rittre rhythmic arcs
of red to pursate gentry in the morning sun.