Every college student knows that there is nothing more exciting than peering into your tiny little mailbox and seeing that bit of pink paper that means there is a package waiting. It can turn any bad day around, and makes every good day better.
When I was a Freshman in college, I got a care package at least once a month. This was not because my parents thought to send one to me. Rather, it was because I needed a prescription refilled every month, and my mom would use the occasion to shower me with love. It was awesome.
What was not awesome was when fucking Costco started sending my prescription in three-month amounts. One day I opened up my care package and there was a huge bottle of pills. It was pretty much the size of a giant cucumber, and it spelled the doom of my days of monthly love.
By the time I was a Junior I was only receiving packages on holidays. Where once I had been the envy of my friends, now I was ordinary. It was very depressing. I took to ordering things off of Amazon just so I could get packages once in awhile.
I hit rock bottom one day in February.
At the time, I was rooming with a very good friend who I had gone to high school with. She and I had been on the swim team together, and we were both writers and in the education program. What I'm trying to say is that we were tight. We were good friends who shared a lot.
This particular day, we were walking back to our room from class together. We stopped to get our mail, and Sara had the coveted little pink piece of paper resting delicately in her mailbox like a tangible promise of love. I was so envious.
My envy waned, though, when she admitted that the package was her new iPod that she had just ordered. I mean, I was still jealous that she got a new iPod, but it was much better than if someone back home had thought of her and sent love in a box. I didn't feel so alone in my Amazon habit.
We went to the pickup window, and the mailroom lady handed Sara a package wrapped neatly in brown paper. It seemed a little big for an iPod Nano, but who was I to judge? Maybe whoever had packaged it had anticipated a sad roommate and had included the appropriate amount of bubble wrap. Bubble wrap makes everything better. Especially when it's combined with wine. Well, really, anything combined with wine is better.
As we examined the package, I got a weird feeling. Like there was something obvious that I should notice, but didn't. In fact, I got the same feeling every time I looked at Christmas presents that were signed "From Santa" in my mother's handwriting. My eyes darted over the return address, barely registering at first that it was a very familiar address. The address, combined with the handwriting made my brain actually work. That was my address. That was my mom's handwriting.
Why was my mom sending my roommate a package? Had Sara's mom asked her to? The questions were piling up.
In a ridiculous state of confusion, we ripped open the package right there in the mailroom. We were like two velociraptors that had been presented with a piñata. We didn't really understand why we had it, but by god we were going to figure out what was inside.
After ripping through the paper and tearing open the box, we were greeted with the mana of college students everywhere: chocolate chip cookies. My mom had sent my roommate chocolate chip cookies. Gooey, chocolatey cookies.
Confused, I ran back to my mailbox. No pink slip had materialized. The tiny box was empty. I even wiggled my hand around inside just in case. Nothing.
By now I was convinced that my mom loved my roommate more than me, and I was fucking indignant. Have you ever been indignant and had a good reason? It feels awesome. You have all the power in the world over the person who has wronged you. It's that moment of anticipation when you are watching The Avengers for the second time and The Hulk is about to wail on Loki. You know justice is coming. And it feels good.
And so, with righteous indignation on my side, I pulled out my Phone of Justice, and called my mom.
Mom: What's up?
Me: Sara got a care package. From you. (I laid on the accusation. I figured excessive guilt would get me an even better care package. My mother would be so filled with remorse that she would send me the most awesome thing in the history of awesome. I had no clue what it would be, but I wanted it.)
But the conversation that followed did not go as I expected. Instead of being filled with remorse, my mother started laughing.
Convinced that I was no longer loved and would have to find a new family, I demanded to know why Sara got cookies and I didn't.
My mom patiently explained that it was Sara's birthday and that I was supposed to get cookies, but they had burned. And then my dad had eaten them. She claimed she was in the middle of baking me a new batch, and they would be perfect.
To this day I am suspicious. Did my mom indeed bake me cookies that were lost tragically to burning and my father? Or was she simply trying to cover up the fact that she sent a care package to my roommate and not to me? I doubt the mystery will ever be solved. But I did receive a delicious package of cookies two days later. And it was bigger than Sara's.
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