Little Brown Box

Short Story

The brown box that sat on the counter was a mystery to me. I never had the guts to open it. Grandma seemed to always walk in just as I had built up the courage to open it and take a peek. My mom always told me to never touch anything in Grandma’s house because everything was breakable. When my sister and I would get into it over the green toy trolley, my mom would send us into the yard for the rest of the time we were there. Out in the yard we would rough house, my sister was a lot larger than me, until it was time to go home. At home, I would have that feeling of loss like you forgot something, and would remember that I was supposed to look in that little brown box. This routine went on for years; I never had the courage to open that box. My Grandma died at 88 years old. I was 21, in college, and hadn't seen her very much that year. My mother called and asked if I could drop by the house. She and my father had been to the reading of the will, and they had something special that my grandma had left to me. I couldn't imagine what it was. It had even been years since I had been in her house. From what I could remember, everything was old and girly, what could she possibly have left me. I walked into my parents’ house and saw the box on the counter. A little warn from the years, but the same box. I walked over to the counter, mom was watching with tears in her eyes as I pushed the brass latch over to release it from its locked position. I took a deep breath; the thing that had me crazy for so many years was now in my hand. As I lifted the top, the breath left my body in disappointment.

I looked over to my mom, tilted the box, and showed her it was empty.

Author's Note

Edited

Reviews

[Marie]

Sometimes looking forward to a thing is better than having it.

[Tom C]

But the box is the gift not what could have been in it. The mystery is now yours to hold from others for YOU have the box. LOL
Very nice.
Funny how many time our imagination is better then reality.
Thank you for sharing.