The Day the Box moved

“Are you there, God? It’s me…”

It’s been a while since we last spoke. I hope you’re doing well. I apologize for not being in touch lately—things have been extremely busy and stressful.

As I lie on my customized velvet memory foam bed, I’m filled with guilt that I speak to you only when I genuinely need your comfort. I wish I had reached out in my moments of glory and happiness—moments when I truly appreciated the beauty of life. But here I am, at ten years of age, already living a life filled with boredom, burnout, insomnia, and stress.

Life as a celebrity is truly hard.

The house help came into my room a while ago and got my outfit for the day from the massive walk-in closet. I don’t understand fashion, but I know that whatever I’m going to wear today will be extremely uncomfortable and itchy. Still, it makes my parents happy, and it’s the least I can do for all the luxury they’ve given me.

They like pointing their phones at me and recording every little thing I do. That seems to be my job these days. Apparently, that’s what made me famous. I get recognized a lot when I step out of the house and go into public. Everyone looks at me fondly and wants to spend time with me. Sometimes, I feel like my parents see me more through their phones than without them.

There are moments I wish I could just sit with them, with no one around and no distractions—lay my head on my mother’s lap and listen to my father’s beautiful voice as he sings and whistles in tandem. It’s been two summers since that happened, and I miss it a lot.

As I drift deeper into thoughts about the purpose of my life, a gust of wind catches the large purple silk curtains of my room. I watch them sway—left, right, left again. It reminds me of the days when I used to go hiking with my parents and watched the maple trees swaying in the breeze. The wind and the curtains disturb the position of the large oil painting hanging in a shiny wooden frame.

I look at myself in the painting and wonder how happy I look in it.

I remember the day a weird-looking gentleman came to our house and made me sit still for a long time while he worked on the painting. Back then, I was really happy, and it was always so hard to sit in one place. My parents struggled to keep me still because I loved running around and exploring everything in sight. These days, though, I can sit for hours. The weird-looking gentleman could paint ten more portraits of me now. But I don’t know if I would look happy in them.

There are eight rooms in this house, two kitchens, two water fountains, and many colorful roses in the garden outside—yet I barely see or hear anyone. My parents leave before I wake up, and sometimes, they don’t come home for days. I don’t know why they don’t take me along. There are a lot of people in the house to take care of me, but they stop noticing me once my parents are gone. I disappear for them the moment my parents disappear.

Today, my parents are home, and I can hear them in the adjoining room. My mother seems to be shouting at my dad, and I hope they aren’t fighting. Still, I’m happy they’re back, and I’ll get to see them. I’m okay with them recording another daily activity of mine—at least I’ll get to spend time with them.

I just hope they’re not angry with me. I did break my mom’s favorite flower vase earlier today. I hope they don’t leave again.

God, I’m talking to you today to ask you to help me keep them here. I’ll do what they say and be a really good boy.

As I drift again into thoughts of loneliness, my parents step into the room carrying a small gift box, neatly wrapped like a Christmas present. They both have huge smiles on their faces as they bring the box closer.

Maybe they weren’t fighting after all.

Maybe Dad gave Mom a gift, and she just shouted in excitement—she does that a lot. I should’ve known.

But now, all I can think about is the box. As it gets closer, I smell something familiar—like my own perfume has been sprayed all over it. Suddenly, the box moves slightly on its own.

This freaks me out.

Are my parents gifting me a ghost?

Do they really love me?

Are they really my parents?

My mother slowly opens the box, and out pops a small head.

My head spins in excitement—I don’t know how to react. I’m jumping around, running everywhere. I’m filled with joy, elated beyond words. This tiny little creature is going to be with me—someone I can talk to, someone to share my stories and adventures with.

But the best part?

This tiny creature looks exactly like me.

He has the same fluffy golden coat and soulful eyes. Our noses even look the same. Both of our feathery tails wag in unison. I can’t stop licking and kissing him.

He looks confused about what’s happening around him, but I know I’m going to be a great big brother. I’ll teach him all the tricks I know. I can’t wait to show him my tennis ball collection. He’ll be a good retriever, just like me.

I’ll even teach him my specialty—peeing without lifting our hind legs. It’s going to be so much fun.

As my zoomies begin to calm down, and I settle into the joy of what just happened, I see my parents take out their phones and start recording again. They have more to record now.

But this time, my brother joins me.

And somehow, this once-mundane activity of being recorded now feels a little more tolerable.

Life is going to be better now.

And I want to thank you for this.

Hope you’re listening.

Are you there, God? It’s me…