The Gift

On Sunday evening I’ve received from my mother still living in my birthplace a set of cans of vegetable juice by the home delivery service. I answered the door in a hurry and opened the door quietly. I got a cardboard box from the delivery person with some words. I didn’t lose my confidence in logistics. Soon I sent an email to my mother and she knew the arrival of the gift to her son.

I’m unmarried and have no children. I’m already forty years old. I often wonder how complicated things we can deal with. I drink the cans of vegetable juice one after another. I drink a lot of blood. I drink my life. I drink memories. In my youth I had refused to unite with the human community. In my mind I had even forgotten any languages. As I had overcome solitude through love with a tender and wise girl, my mother had made herself easier with age. I am drinking the gift.