He picked each box up, turned it around, felt the edges with his fingertips, before setting it back on the table. Three two-inch cubes of shiny, azure blue stared at him, waiting.
"I could pick the middle one," he said to himself. "Being in the middle is good."
"Of course," he continued, "It's not good to sit in the middle on things. Mona always accused me of sitting in the middle."
Mona wasn't there to help him decide. She had left because he could never take a stand, make a decision, about anything.
Maybe I should take the first box. But, which one is first? Does it start from the left or the right? Louise used to complain that I saw too many sides to every issue.
Louise had left, too. She wanted a man who knew his own mind and could express an opinion.
"Eenie meenie miney moe," Stanton said, pointing to each box as he performed the ritual from his childhood. His finger came to rest at last on the box to the right.
Well, that makes sense. The box to the right is the right one. He picked it up. There, I've made my decision.
Still, he held the box in his hand for a long time without opening it, wishing he could open all of them. He thought of Judy, who had said goodbye because he loved the choices more than the selection.
"Captain Kirk would find a way to open all three," he complained. "I can't be dumber than Shatner."
Finally, he sat down, bracing himself for disappointment, not for picking the wrong box, but for having to pick a box at all. He held the box up to the light, flipping it over, and studying it carefully. Then he stood up again.
He picked up the other two boxes and tossed them in the air, one at a time, juggling them. After two or three rounds, he caught them all, sat them on the table, and walked to the door.
There's nothing I want that badly, he decided, and left. He didn't want to be late for his date with Brenda.
The End.
