Swim the Fly by Don Calame

expert, but even I can manage a present that doesn’t look like it’s been kicked around the yard.
    “What is it?”
    “Never you mind,” Grandpa says. “I just need you to deliver it to Mrs. Hoogenboom.”
    “Is it her birthday or something?”
    “Don’t be an idiot,” Grandpa says. “Why would I use Christmas paper on a birthday present?”
    “I don’t know. Why did you use Christmas paper in July?”
    “It’s all we had. Now shut up and listen.” Grandpa Arlo grabs the present and holds it out to me. “I need you to be discreet. If she sees you delivering it, she’ll be suspicious. I just want you to put it on her front doorstep, then knock and run and hide.”
    “Can’t I just leave it and she’ll find it when she comes out?”
    “No. You need to make sure she finds it right away.” Just then, the box meows and wobbles in Grandpa’s hands.
    “Is there a cat in there?”
    “It’s a kitten. Edith said she’d always wanted a kitty, but Ray was too much of a curmudgeon. Well, now she can have one.”
    “Why don’t you want her to know it’s from you?” I say.
    “Animals are risky gifts, Matt. People either love you for giving them a new friend or hate you for saddling them with a burden. I just signed it ‘From Someone Who Cares.’ That way, if she likes it I’ll tell her it’s from me, and if she doesn’t, we can jointly curse the inconsiderate bastard who gave it to her. Either way it’ll give us something to talk about.”
    “What if she’s not home?”
    “Where’s she going? Her husband just died. Go on. Take it over there.” Grandpa Arlo shoves the box at me.
    I fold up my workout papers and tuck them into the back pocket of my shorts. I take the gift, but it’s unsteady because the kitten keeps moving. “Shouldn’t you poke holes in this or something? For air?”
    Grandpa scrunches up his face and bats my idea out of the air with his hand. “No. That would give it away.”
    Another muted meow comes from the present.
    “I don’t think a few airholes will be what gives it away, Grandpa.”
    “Don’t worry about it. Paper’s porous. And there’s plenty of air in the box. Just get it over there. Chop-chop.”
    “Okay.” I turn to head out.
    “When you hide, make sure you can see her answer the door. I want a full report. What she says. What her expression is. Everything.”
    “Sure, Grandpa.”
    I stop in the vestibule to put on my sneakers, and while I’m at it, I punch a couple of holes in the side of the box with my house key, just in case.
    I’m out the door, trying not to appear too suspicious as I run-walk across the street holding a poorly wrapped Christmas present in the middle of summer. The kitten is really yowling now. I take a quick look, but there’s nobody around. I want to unload this thing as fast as I can.
    Up the Hoogenbooms’ cracked concrete driveway, past their faded brown station wagon, and I’m at the house. I place Grandpa’s package gently on the ground and then knock hard on the metal screen door. I should have decided on a hiding spot first off, because now I look left and right and there’s no place to go.
    I dash around the car and lie on my belly, in the dirt and sand, behind the front wheel. I press my cheek to the ground and look under the car. Just then, the front door opens out and smacks into the gift. The kitten lets out a loud cry, and I hear Mrs. Hoogenboom say, “What on earth?” She bends down to pick up the box. The kitten howls. “Good Lord. I hope this isn’t what I think it is.”
    Mrs. Hoogenboom takes the present inside. I don’t even want to know what she’s going to say when she opens the box.
    Back at the house, Grandpa grills me for details. “What did she say?” “But how did she say it?” “Did she smile?” “Did she open it?” “Did she read the card?”
    I give him as much as I can, though none of it seems to satisfy him.
    He starts to pace, pushing his glasses up on his nose, stroking his