The Hope Box

The woman stood alone in her living room gazing at the tattered remnant of a small box sitting quietly on her chic Pembroke table. A look of sadness flitted across her face briefly, to be replaced with a soft smile. Sitting in a place of honor on a silver tray, the crushed cardboard looked oddly out of place in the elegant room. Sometimes, visitors would question her about it.

Her reply was always the same, “It’s my Hope Box.” Then, if the party were interested, she would tell its story….

There. It was done. He would never hurt her again. It had taken her over an hour of concentrated effort to complete her creation, but now that it was finished, the little girl glowed with pride and a shimmer of hope. She sighed with satisfaction, excited to be able to tell her Mommy, when she came home from work in the morning, that they were now safe. She was sure of it.

On her dingy dresser sat a small package, wrapped clumsily in brown paper, tied with a piece of twine. Tape was randomly stuck in places, holding down errant edges. To the casual observer it would look like a child’s effort to wrap a gift for someone. To the child staring at her work of art, it was that and so much more. It was a very special gift she was giving to herself and to her mother.

She had never known her real father, but she imagined him often. In her daydreams, he was a kind and generous person who came and rescued her from her present hell and then shielded her forever from all harm. The truth was much harsher. He was a one-night stand who never even knew he had fathered a child, nor is it likely he would have cared.

Even a small child can only hide from reality for so long by imagining rescue from an unknown entity. Finally, in her desperation to end the chaos and pain, she took matters into her own hands. Her stepfather, the man central to her suffering, would often force her to stay by his side through the night as he watched horror shows and porn on TV. In between episodes, the girl suffered unspeakable abuse at this monster’s hands. If she fell asleep or tried to close her eyes in revulsion to the scenes playing on the screen, she would be slapped brutally to attention.

Tonight, however, she had learned something useful from one show. A woman captured the evil essence of a monster and locked it away in a box. If the evil essence stayed locked away, the creature in question became a docile slave, doing the woman’s bidding. The child paid very close attention to every detail involved in stopping the monster’s rampage. Then, after her own personal monster fell into a drunken coma, she softly walked to her room and began the preparations.

First, she found a small cardboard box. According to the TV, it had to be made out of a wood called “mahagny” but she figured God would understand. She walked back quietly to the living room and held the box under the man’s nose. This part was crucial. She had to close the box quickly to catch the evil in his breath. She snapped down the lid and the man jumped in his sleep, slapping at the unknown disturbance with his giant hands, narrowly missing the child’s head. Frozen in place, she held her breath until he settled and began snoring again.

Returning to her room, she knelt at her bed and prayed, “Dear Jesus, please help my box to keep all the bad stuff from my step-daddy locked away so he can be nice to me and Mommy. Thank you so much.” She hadn’t been to church but once. She remembered the nice lady there had said that Jesus would answer you if you prayed and loved him. She loved Jesus very much, so this was guaranteed to work.

She had just placed the box on her dresser to admire it when, suddenly, a long shadow cast over her. Gasping, she turned to see her stepfather leering at her from the doorway. He was always more dangerous when he first woke up after a night of drinking. Dread filled the little girl’s heart where, moments before, optimism had reigned.

“What have we here, baby-cakes?” he grinned, snatching the box from the dresser before she could grab it, “A gift for your dear old Dad?”

Inspiration came to her as she responded, “Yes, Daddy! It’s for you. It’s magical and will bring you luck…but only if you don’t open it!”

“Awwww. Baby-cakes made me a magic gift, did she? Let me show you what I think of your magic!” he growled as he crushed the small box, throwing it on the floor. With an evil chuckle, he advanced toward her; she knew what was coming. As she watched his boot smash the tiny box that had held such big dreams, something inside of her snapped. Screaming, she pushed past him and ran for the door, yanking it open and rushing down the tenement stairs. After a moment of shocked disbelief, the man came thundering after her.

“Get back here you little brat. I will make you scream for a reason, you piece of dirt! You know what your good ole’ Daddy’s gonna do to you, don’t you? You know you want it! Get back here or I’ll kill your Mommy! You know I will!” Until today, the threat about her mother had always worked. Today, she could not make her legs stop, even though her heart pounded in fear for the consequences. Today, she could only run.

And run she did, right into the arms of a burly police officer, who had been there on an unrelated issue. The officer had heard the entire exchange and saw the terror in the small child’s eyes.

Holding her tight, he whispered, “You will be OK. Your Mommy will be OK. It’s OK.” As the child’s stepfather rounded the last flight of stairs, the officer’s partner was calmly waiting with a pair of cuffs.

There was more to this story. Stories within the story. Stories of foster care and court dates and visiting Mommy in rehab. Stories of struggles at school and broken hearts and finding one’s purpose. But, through all the stories, the little girl, who grew into the confident woman now standing in that living room, kept the crushed box to remind her of this truth: Evil tried to crush her Hope Box, but in doing so, hope was set free.