Josie and the Pussycats, anyone? Just what Charley had been waiting for. I ordered the music CD on Amazon. It’s Charley’s job to get the mail every day. He knows what the mail truck looks like. It’s small, white, square.
So why was he running after the UPS truck? I thought I heard a commotion outside the window and sure enough, there was Charley, jumping up and down, flagging down the UPS truck. I watched for a moment as the truck stopped and the two men inside leaned towards the door, then I went outside.
Charley was trying to explain it to them. “I waiteen here,” he said.
One man said, “Are you waiting for a package?”
I started to walk down the driveway. “Mommy, go back aside.” He waved me away. But I hung around just in case he needed help. Okay, I take that back. In case they needed help.
The man said, “We don’t have a delivery for this address.”
Charley said, “Josie, pussycat.”
The man next to the door said, “Sorry, Buddy, maybe tomorrow,” and they drove off. Charley chased the truck to the corner and gave up. I walked halfway down the street to meet him.
“Honey, that’s the wrong truck,” I said.
“Honey, that’s the wrong truck,” I said.
He hung his head and came back inside.
About a half hour later here came the Fed Ex truck.
Ditto the scene with the UPS truck.
“Maybe tomorrow,” the man said, and drove off.
More running after the truck, to the corner, and then slumping his way back home.
“Wrong truck,” I said.
About fifteen minutes later, here came the real mail truck.
This time, Charley walked to the end of the driveway and put his hands on his hips.
“You got my Josie Pussycats?”
The woman who drives our mail truck is used to Charley, and she’s always sweet.
“Maybe tomorrow,” she said. “I promise to keep an eye out for it.” Off she went.
Charley pointed as she left. “Dat da weal twuck?” He’s no dummy. He’s seen this truck before.
“Yes, son, that’s the real truck.”
“Where my CD?”
Again, I promised him it would be here soon.
The next day we went through the same routine with one exception. This time the UPS truck and the FED EX truck didn’t stop for a chat. They just sort of slowed down but kept on going, while Charley chased the trucks to the corner. The mail truck stopped, of course, and the mail carrier handed him some envelopes. She waved at me. “It must be pretty important,” she said.
“It is,” I replied, and waved goodbye.
“I mad,” Charley said. “Dat twuck no bwing Josie Pussycat.”
Another promise that it would be here soon. And then, I lied.
“It’s coming from California,” I said. “That’s a loooooong way from here.”
I got out the iPad and showed him where California is and said, “Sometimes it takes several days. Anything to buy some time.
Wednesday rolled around. Still no Josie and the Pussycats CD.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday. No CD.
Sunday. Charley assumed the position beside the mailbox.
“We don’t get mail on Sundays,” I said.
“Yes I are.” He said, and stood firm until he heard a clap of thunder and abandoned his post.
Finally, Monday came. I watched as the UPS truck didn’t even slow down, but sped up as they passed our house. Ditto that for the FED EX truck.
This time he refused to come in the house. “Enough!” he said, squatting down next to the mailbox and waited for the mail truck.
I yelled from the doorway. “What are you doing, son?”
“I waiteen da weal meal twuck.”
I shut the door.
And then, the sound I’d been hoping for. It was the sound of running feet, and they were heading toward the house, not away from it.
Josie had decided to show up, and had brought her pussycats with her.
“Which truck brought the CD?” I asked.
“Da weal twuck!” he said.
And just like that, that was the end of that.
The next day, he stood beside the computer. “You order my CD?”
“You got your CD,” I reminded him.
“Which one do you want this time?”
“Beauty and the Beast?”
“Take out the trash and help Dad with the chores and I’ll order it for you.”
Monday rolled around. More truck chasing.
I got out the map. This time I showed him South Africa. “That’s a long way from here. You may have to wait a while.”
“Yeah,” he said, and went out side to wait for the weal mail truck.
The weal truck pulled up. “Maybe tomorrow,” she said.
Or, Maybe not. I forgot to order it.