The Want Not Box

Racing along the four-lane highway, Lizzy glances at the white Persian cat sleeping peacefully in the passenger seat of her Ford SUV. She’s making great time.

“Our exit!” Suzy’s arm thrusts forward, from the back of the SUV, slashing through Lizzy’s peripheral vision.

Lizzy jerks the wheel, but cuts it too close. The SUV clips the concrete barrier that separates the on-ramp from the highway. The barrier grazes the driver’s side, as the SUV fishtails left. Sparks ignite as the rear of the vehicle spins clockwise, and supersedes the front. Lizzy grapples for control, turning the wheel left, then right, but the impact’s angular momentum proves to be unstoppable. The SUV careens off the edge of the curved ramp, and launches into the air like a boomerang. The seatbelt across Lizzy’s chest, won’t save her from what’s coming.

“Aww, that’s too bad,” Suzy’s voice echoes smugly from the back seat.

Lizzy ignores her identical twin’s mocking, and doesn’t respond.

Yeah, I won’t survive this one.

Lizzy closes her eyes, clenches her teeth, and awaits the inevitable… but nothing happens. Lizzy opens her eyes, and realizes she’s alone, spinning through an endless abyss of darkness.

“This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real,” Lizzy murmurs.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong!

Lizzy’s eyes jolt open, the familiar image of her bedroom ceiling fan welcoming her back to reality.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong!

“Alright, alright I’m coming.” Irritated, Lizzy springs from her bed, and strides toward the front door.

What time is it; how long have I been napping? My phone must be on the console table.

As she reaches the entryway, the ringing doorbell is replaced by a loud, insistent knocking. Without looking through the peep hole, Lizzy disengages the deadbolt, turns the latch, yanks the door open.

“What is it?!” Lizzy exclaims.

Late afternoon sunlight shimmers beyond the covered porch, as the sounds of suburbia flood the air.

“Hello?” Lizzy leans through the doorframe, calling out to the persistent visitor.

Mockingbird songs emanate from the tall oaks that populate Lizzy’s well-established middle-class neighborhood. Across the street, Mr. Jenkins rips the hat from his head, and throws it to the ground. He slaps the seat and kicks the tires of an old riding lawnmower, barely audible expletives erupting from his animated gestures. Lizzy’s giggles, having witnessed this performance before, and the knot in her gut loosens.

Hmm, guess they had the wrong house.

Leaning back into the doorframe, Lizzy steps away from the threshold, and begins to close the door, but stops, the door half open.

“What is that?” Lizzy whispers.

A small box, wrapped in brown paper, sits atop the generic welcome mat outside her front door. Opening the door a bit more, Lizzy squats to examine the box. A twine bowtie decorates the otherwise plain brown paper wrapping. The box can’t be more than three cubed inches, and seems too small to pose a serious threat. Besides, Lizzy didn’t have any enemies, not really.

Pursing her lips, Lizzy snatches the box, closes the door, and engages the deadbolt. She grabs her cellphone from the console table; and exits the entryway. Lizzy’s eyes remain fixed on the box as she enters a spacious living/dining area, with arched windows, and vaulted ceilings. Lizzy’s sets her phone on the cocktail table, and plops onto a well-worn pleather love seat.

It feels empty.

Lizzy studies the box from every angle, before giving it a good shake… nothing. The box in her right hand, Lizzy presses the home button of her cellphone with her left thumb.

Sunday, July 25th – my birthday’s next week! It really snuck up on me this year.

Considering the most likely culprit, Lizzy furrows her brow.

Suzy.

Most identical twins share an incredible bond, but Suzy and Lizzy have never been close. Suzy’s always had an insatiable need for attention at Lizzy’s expense. Lizzy earliest memory of this was at age five, when Suzy got “sick” during their dance recital. Suzy’s part was minor, but Lizzy had won a solo. Suzy had developed a horrendous stomach ache just as Lizzy was about to take the stage. While Lizzy had been disappointed, she was more worried about her sister. Little did Lizzy know that this was only the beginning.

Suzy began struggling academically in elementary school, especially with math, which had always been Lizzy’s best subject. Suzy’s subjugation started with little things - missing homework assignments that magically reappeared in Lizzy’s backpack hours later, but the sabotage quickly escalated. Eventually, Lizzy’s homework disappeared permanently, while Suzy’s grades improved. Finally, Lizzy told their parents that Suzy had been stealing her homework; and they were very disappointed, in Lizzy. They had chastised Lizzy for accusing Suzy of such a thing, and suggested that perhaps she should be more organized.

Later, Suzy began to date the boys that Lizzy had been interested in, and steal the routines that Lizzy had choreographed for drill team tryouts. As their teenage years progressed, Lizzy became increasingly secretive, trusting no one. Yet, Suzy always managed to discover the boys Lizzy liked, and the activities for which she intended to tryout. It was like Suzy could read her mind. Suzy always knew things, things she couldn’t possibly have known. Both girls attended the same college, though Lizzy had majored in actuary science, while Suzy had majored in business. After college, Lizzy felt like she’d finally escaped the bondage of Suzy’s shadow, despite not being able to put much physical distance between them.

Suzy married a man that Lizzy had dated in college, and moved to a gated community 15 minutes away. It’s fine, Lizzy is content, but doubts that Suzy will ever let her be. Lately, Lizzy had been feeling unusually optimistic, and even started dating a new man. So naturally, when Suzy had called last week while she was at work, Lizzy let it go to voicemail. But Suzy called again five minutes later. Lizzy, all too familiar with Suzy’s relentlessness, yielded to the second call. Lizzy gazes at the box, replaying the conversation in her mind:

“What’s up?” Lizzy had managed a carefree tone.

“There you are! Lemme take you to lunch; there’s a new seafood joint a mile from your office.” Suzy had been dreadfully enthusiastic.

“Uh, sounds lovely, but I’m pretty swamped.”

“Aww, that’s too bad.”

Lizzy stiffens, Suzy’s mocking tone ringing in her ears.

“Some other time,” Lizzy replied, managing to keep her tone upbeat.

Several seconds had passed before Suzy responded.

“Look, I want to talk about the reunion. I’d really like us to go together.”

Lizzy had wanted to say – no way! But instead said, “I honestly don’t know if I’m going.”

“Think about it, Lizzy. You’d regret missing your 10-year high school reunion.”

Suzy’s tone had been direct, yet oddly placating.

“Maybe you’re right; call you next weekend.”

“You better.”

But Lizzy hadn’t called.

Tears brim at the edges of Lizzy’s blue eyes; and a tsunami of anger crashes through her, ripping open old wounds, as she tears into the mysterious package. Strips of brown paper float to the floor, revealing a white gift box. Lizzy removes the lid and peers inside, but sees only darkness. Leaning over the cocktail table, she tips the box upside down, and taps the bottom. A two-inch square of white paper drifts from the box, and lands on the table. Lizzy lifts the paper, narrowing her eyes, as she reads the fine cursive script:

The Want Not Box

Whisper into me a burden from which you wish to be free,

and far from you this burden will flee.

And in nine days’ time you shall receive

Receive what? What a dumb prank, definitely not Suzy’s style.

She slips the edge of the paper under the gift box, before rising from the loveseat and heading into the kitchen. A few minutes later, Lizzy returns, a steaming TV dinner in one hand, and a glass of cheap merlot in the other. She sets the wine and the dinner onto the table, and picks up the box, placing it in her lap. Lizzy sits motionless for several minutes, before placing the box’s opening over her lips, and whispering a single word.

“Suuu…zeee.”

Lizzy blinks, surprised to find box in her hand. She returns it to the table, and replaces the lid. Before retrieving her dinner and cheap wine, Lizzy opens the little drawer underneath the cocktail table, and withdraws a TV remote. She navigates to Netflix, and resumes the romantic comedy she’d started earlier that day, before her nap.

Several hours later, Lizzy jolts awake, gasping for air, and covered in sweat. Black and white credits roll silently across the TV screen, as another video cues for play. Large rain drops ping loudly against the arched windows, and Lizzy switches on the end table lamp, before turning off the TV. She stands, gripping the edge of the loveseat, as she moves toward the dining room. Releasing the loveseat, Lizzy bounds toward the wet bar in the dining room. Soon, she’s stomping back to the loveseat, opened bottle of merlot in hand. Chest heaving, pulse pounding, Lizzy collapses onto the loveseat, and puts the open bottle to her trembling lips. She gulps ferociously, the bottle clinking against her front teeth, as she attempts to banish the images of death and decay from her mind.

A dream, only a dream, more like a living nightmare! I was naked, standing in front of a full-length mirror, only it wasn’t me. It was some grotesque, dying version of me, bone-thin, bald, toothless, and riddled with pus-filled tumors.

The empty bottle slips from Lizzy’s grip, clatters onto the wooden floor, and rolls under the cocktail table. Lizzy leans forward to retrieve it, but freezes midway, her breath catching in her chest.

The box, it’s gone!

A mixture of cheap wine and bitter stomach acid rises in Lizzy’s throat, as she reaches for her phone.

911, the police, I’m calling the police. Wait, what for?! No, Mom I’m calling Mom.

Lizzy presses the phone’s home button, and the screen lights up:

9:99

Jul 26

What?

Lizzy blinks, and the display changes:

3:33

July 26

Lizzy searches her contacts, locates her mom, and presses call. Lizzy’s mom answers on the third ring, her voice groggy, but concerned.

“Lizzy, everything alright?”

Lizzy sighs in relief, and rises from the loveseat, tipsy, but otherwise stable.

“Yeah, sorry to wake you. I just had a horrible nightmare; it was so real.”

“Lizzy, you know you can call anytime. Do you wanna talk about it?”

Ambling toward her bedroom, Lizzy flips on the overhead light, and enters a hallway lined with family photos.

“I don’t know. I can hardly remember it now.”

Lizzy stops in front of the large mahogany frame that hangs just outside her bedroom door – a photo of her and Suzy standing arm in arm after their high school graduation, only now it’s just a photo of Lizzy.

Where’s Suzy?!

“Uh, Mom, when was the last time you talked to Suzy?”

“Lizzy, you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, just a little too much wine, I guess. Sorry I woke you, call you later, love you, bye.”

Lizzy disconnects the call, rushes back into the living room, and tosses her phone onto the loveseat. As Lizzy kneels to check under the table, she sees it, the little square of paper with cursive writing. Holding the paper under the lamp, Lizzy reads the script again:

The Want Not Box.

Whisper into me a burden from which you wish to be free, and far from you this burden will flee.

And in nine days’ time you shall receive

With trembling hands, Lizzy flips the paper over, and reads:

the burden which has been gifted to thee.