When we parted, Pauline was tied to the railroad tracks and a train was bearing down on her. No, wait, this cliffhanger was more Shakespearean, to open the box or not to open the box.

The bag containing the box stared at me with its big red eyes, like a puppy that had been up all night cramming for its final obedience test. That bag had already caused me problems, trying to carry it home on a windy day. A big gust had almost torn it from my hands and sent it careening down the sidewalk.

Fortunately, my momentum was stopped by a van that had just pulled up to ferry a group of locals to Alabama, the land of plenty, where a million-and-a-half doses of COVID vaccine sit unused on shelves.

This added factor, concern that my wind-blown adventure may have caused damage to the space shuttle, destroying parts of the heat shield, gave me no choice but to open the box. But there were so many pieces, and I was unfamiliar with them, not sure what was what. The only safe course of action is to go through all the instructions, step by step, inch by inch, and so I will. It’s my destiny.