The Chocolate generation

Based on a true story. 

"What's this grandma?" I asked, holding up a large heart-shaped box that looked like it was for chocolates, upon opening it I realized it was empty, we were in the attic though, so I guess it's good that it was.

She looked up, "Oh that's nice. I think grandpa got it for me a while ago, and I kept the box because it was cute."

Being a curious child, I asked, "Why did he get it for you?"

She replied, "I don't remember, probably because he did something and got me chocolates to try and hide it. He hoped I wouldn't figure it out" She started chuckling, "I miss grandpa."

"Yea, we all do," I replied, smiling sadly, gazing at the box in my hand, lined with fabric trim, it had a bow in the middle with a rose on top, it was red and white, with a gold trim on it. It was made of a hard cardboard-like material that had kept it alive all these years, it could’ve been there for 50 years for all we knew, the tag marking on the back had turned yellow and peeled mostly off so there was no sure way of knowing. 

Grandma noticed me admiring the box, “If you want, you can have it Scooby-doo” She smiled, and also gave me a little basket, shaped like a heart, weaved together by hand, it seemed. “We made these a long time ago, I think you’ll appreciate it with the new box you got there.” 

“Thank you grandma.” I replied happily, especially with what I had just gotten. “I wonder what I’ll do with it.” I thought, taking my newly acquired items downstairs to my suitcase and setting them on top, since they was too big to fit inside. 

For the rest of the weekend while I stayed, I wondered what I could do with it. It was surely very pretty, “It could make a good decoration, or maybe hold photos of me and my lover.”

It was definitely big enough to do that, “What if I put our initials in it? No, stupid idea, I’ll think of something later.” I kept going back and forth with ideas to myself, and had come up with a great deal of them before I eventually had to leave. I said my goodbyes to grandma and left that afternoon, still perplexed on what to do.

When we got home my mother realized I had it, and asked, “What’s that, how did you get it?” My mother is a very nosy person and likes to know everything, but I answered simply, “Grandma gave it to me.” Before heading upstairs. 

When I got upstairs I put everything on my bed and sat down. I started examining the box again, trying to figure out why I had chosen to take it. I mean, it was definitely very pretty, and grandma had given it to me- I could never turn down grandma, but there was another reason why. Another subconscious reason, that I just couldn’t figure out.

After a long while of thinking I gave it up, I decided that whatever reason it may be, it was worth having, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to keep it out without it getting destroyed I stashed it in one of my bins underneath my bed. Figuring I’d come back to it later, “probably the next morning,” I thought to myself. 

 2 years later

… 

“What’s this?” I hear asked from across the room. I look over my shoulder to see my little sister holding a large heart shaped box, she had been looking through my stuff again. I would’ve been mad if I hadn’t remembered who the box was from. I responded lightly, for I didn’t want her to be sad, “Great Grandma gave it to me around two years ago when I helped her clean out her attic.” There was a small following moment of silence.

“Oh.” She sighed, looking at the box with newfound sadness in her eyes. “It’s alright,” I replied. “Could you please set that on my bed, I don’t want it getting broken.” 

“Yea, I’m sorry.” She said placing it on my bed gently. “I miss grandma.” 

“I do as well, but it’ll be alright, currently she’s somewhere happily with grandpa, you’ll see.” I felt a tear form in my eye as I gazed at the box, smiling kindly at my eyes, yearning to be used for a purpose of love again. “I’m sorry, I forgot that was there, otherwise I wouldn’t have let you even get close to that bin.” 

“It’s alright, you’re not the nosy one anyway, I was the one who went through your stuff and happened find it.” She responded.

“It’s alright, now you could please leave, I need to do something.” I told her. 

“Yes, I can, bye.” Was what I heard before she had walked out the door. 

“Thanks..,” I responded, maybe a little too late. I looked at my bed, where the box lay, yet again, right where we had begun. I made my way across the room and picked it up gingerly, I didn’t want to even make the slightest dent on it, because it was one of the last things which my grandma had gave me before she was gone for good. 

I remembered I had a small subconscious feeling that day, that this box would somehow mean so much more than it did then. Now it most certainly did. It was a very fond memory from when my grandmother was alive. Sitting down with it, I was suddenly 11 again, admiring all the little details which made up the complex box. A box that symbolized love, and not just the romantic kind, but true love of a grandmother and her grandchild who she loved dearly and had only even wished the best for. A family bond, that lived on even without them being there with you. 

Ever since that day I have cherished this box, and plan to do something with it when the time comes, so that it may live on for years to come, even if the origins may be a little different than many would think.