The Box

I couldn’t take my eyes off the box on the table. I was fascinated by it. Not that it was, in and of itself, that interesting.

It was just a box wrapped in plain brown paper. It was about the size of a box that checks from the bank come in. Nothing about it stood out. There wasn’t even any writing on the side—like Amazon or Chewy—to hint at what was inside. And even if there was something on the box, I wouldn’t have been able to see it through the kraft paper it was wrapped in. There was a mailing label but I was too far away to read it.

It was sitting on a table across the room. The table was a klunky, wooden table with indentations in the sides. I had picked it up about ten years before at a thrift store and refinished it. It was again in need of attention…dusting it would be a good start.

Next to the brown box was a vase with three pink carnations. I love carnations but solid colors are kind of boring. I prefer the ones that are mainly one color but with a different color on the edges. They contrast better when they’re in the vase.

The vase was sitting on a doily my grandmother had crocheted. It was a very intricate design. She had tried to teach me to crochet once but it didn’t grab me. I had a hard time sitting still that long. It seems like nobody really has doilies any more. I don’t know why. I think they look kind of…elite.

I couldn’t see the doily though from my vantage point. The box covered most of it. My cat, the only other thing on the table, covered the rest of it. I wished I could see it. It was really pretty.

My cat knew he wasn’t supposed to be on the table. He was a small, gray/brown and white cat, with a notched ear, a big name—King Tutankhamun—and a big attitude. I called his name but he looked away from me—just far enough away that I knew it was intentional. He was mocking me. I imagined him sticking out his tongue and saying, “Nanner, nanner, nanner. I’m on the table and you can’t do anything about it.” He just sat quietly, ignoring me.

But I digress.

The most fascinating thing about the box was that it hadn’t been there when I fell asleep but was there when I woke up. So where did it come from? And, of course, what was in it?

I wondered what kinds of things could come in a box that size? Jewelry, for one; a bracelet or watch or, more likely, some kind of pendant, as I never wore bracelets or watches. Or it was one of those BECAUSE I never wore them and didn’t own any. But I didn’t really think anyone would send me jewelry?

I thought maybe it was a book, but it would have to be a very small book. I considered it could be some kind of trinket to add to my endless shelves of endless trinkets.

The thought briefly popped into my head that it could be a mail bomb. Not likely though. There’s no part of my life where I pose a threat to anyone to where they’d want to send me a bomb.

King Tut jumped off the table and distracted me from my musings. He stretched in something like the downward dog yoga pose, shook himself, and sauntered out of the room.

The curtains were open a crack and the sunshine attracted my attention. I couldn’t see anything outside but I could hear birds singing and I could imagine that the flower bed beyond my back deck was in full bloom.

I planted it about six weeks ago at the beginning of spring. I didn’t really think it out. I used one of those mixed wildflower seeds packages. I’m not that much of a flower person. I wanted some below the deck but didn’t want to put all that much energy into it. So I had just loosened the dirt a bit, weeded, and spread out the seeds.

I was pretty sure the lawn was green. It usually was this time of year. I knew we’d had some rain. It probably looked nice. I’d heard the lawn mower a few times.

The little brown box on the table was between me and the window so I returned to my mystery. What could be in it?

Maybe it’s something from my sister. She doesn’t communicate with me that much but she has more in the past few weeks. Maybe it’s a picture of my niece. Or maybe it’s something my niece made for me.

The door, which had been ajar, opened wide and the home care nurse came in.

“Thank the Lord!” I exclaimed.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Bored,” I responded.

“How’s that body cast treating you? Itchy?”

“Unbelievably!” I said, her cheerfulness annoying and grating as usual.

“Well, it won’t be much longer. Let’s turn you now.”

“By the way,” I asked. “Where did that box on the table come from?”