At the offer to help carry that cardboard-encased burden you have there,

you eagerly let it drop with an audible crunch.  Vigorous, back-slapping hugs

and promises rushing from flustered, grateful lips are your response.  You gingerly lift and

set the burden onto my outstretched arms, and state you need to see to show where you

are going with the strange bundle.  You need your arms free.  I agree to this, it makes

sense.  At one point, I have to shift position.  The unwieldy shape of the box gets

uncomfortable.  You smile with sharp irritation in your eyes, saying to be careful.  You

don’t want it to break.  We walk in the noonday heat, and I am sweating.  After what seems

like eternity, you cheerfully say We are here!  So, anyway, I can go ahead and leave.  You

have an appointment coming up.  Guess help would never quite REACH your heart.


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