The Box

The figure in the chair swiveled to face the intruder as soon as the door opened. “I was waiting far too long for you to come,” a voice called out from the dark corner the chair was in. 

“Nearly didn’t,” replied the intruder. “And why all the secrecy?” 

The voice didn’t respond. Instead, a shuffling noise was heard as the person in the chair approached the intruder. 

“Grandma!” cried the intruder. The shuffling figure nodded her head. She grabbed her guest’s hand and brought her to the dusty table. Grandma had set a box down on it. 

The box looked ancient. It was made of solid wood, intricate carvings marking every inch of the surface. Little figures danced on the lid, and greenery climbed down the edges. The box had little clawed feet. A small golden lock kept it closed. Light from the partially opened window caused the box’s varnish to glisten. 

Laura remembered seeing this box before. The one time when Laura managed to get into her grandma’s room, she saw it sitting on her shelf. She had desperately wanted the curious box. She had dragged over an old oak stool that had stood near the dresser and reached for it. Laura hadn’t even touched the box when her grandma burst in like a hurricane. “Get off of that stool! Now! And leave this room, NOW!” Grandma had screamed. Young Laura was scared. She didn’t understand why Grandma was so angry. 

Grandma’s things had always been off limits, and even more so when she came to live with Laura’s family. Now, in front of Laura, was the box, reminiscent of the one time when she dared to venture into Grandma’s territory. 

Grandma was shaking. The dark, musty room had a bad effect on her mental state. Laura’s face betrayed her anxiety. Grandma may have been a little strange, but what was she going to do with only Laura in the room? 

Grandma leaned in closer. She smelt like she had been in the room for a long time, the scent of dust and cobwebs wafting up to Laura’s nose. She shuddered. 

“Laura,” Grandma was struggling. “Laura.” Her hand touched Laura’s. The plaintive voice and sad eyes touched Laura’s heart. She held onto Grandma’s hand. 

“Laura. Don’t do what I did. I made my life a mess. I paid for it, hard. I...” Grandma’s frail voice trailed off. “I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m...” she was crying. 

The crying echoed off the walls of the room. A tear fell on the box, gently rolling onto a smiling figure’s face. 

“What are you sorry for, Grandma?” Laura’s compassionate heart was twinging. Grandma was in pain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” More tears were hitting the lid of the box, making pools on its surface. Grandma kept crying. 

Finally, after several minutes, Grandma took a shuddering breath. She was going to press on, no matter how painful. 

“Laura. I want you to have this box. It’s-” her voice broke again. “It’s generations old. My wonderful mother gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday. I never opened it. I... I want you to have this. I need you to have this.” Grandma’s head sagged. 

Laura looked into Grandma’s face. Why did she have a box, but never open it? 

“Grandma, do you know what’s in there?” 

Grandma nodded. “I guard that secret with my life. I know that I am going to die soon, but I can’t tell you what’s in there. It’s because...” she looked out the window. “It’s because I am the seventh generation.” 

Seventh generation? Laura cocked her head and squeezed Grandma’s hand. Grandma understood. 

“It’s... it’s a secret kept for seven generations. And you have to open the box after my death...” her voiced dropped to a hoarse whisper. “...to terminate the secret.” 

*** 

It was strange to be the bearer of the box. Before leaving the room, Grandma cautioned Laura to guard the box with her own life until Grandma’s death. Grandma told her over and over to not open the box until that fateful day.  

Laura sat alone in her apartment. She should have been working on her college homework, but the events of the day tore her asunder. She traced the designs on the box. Here were children clutching apples, laughing, and there were adults working on wheat fields. Everywhere she looked was happiness, health and work. What was it about the box that had made Grandma cry? 

Grandma had given Laura the key. She fingered it under the table. It was smooth, made of some sort of precious metal. She glanced at the lock. Should she?  

The noise of traffic suddenly magnified, waking Laura up to reality. Deciding against it, Laura slapped the key onto the table beside the box and went to go rummage in her fridge. It was way past supper, and she was hungry. 

*** 

Years later, Laura was summoned to Grandma’s death bed. Grandma looked so feeble and pale. As soon as Grandma perceived that Laura was there, she motioned for her to come to the bedside. Laura knelt at the edge of the bed, expecting Grandma’s question. 

“Box?” Grandma barely breathed.  

“Yes, I still have it,” Laura whispered into her ear. 

For the years that Laura had the box, it nearly haunted her at first. After two weeks of sidling by it like a scared cat, she finally flung it into the recesses of her closet. It soon became buried under her possessions. 

Any time she thought of the box, it made her nervous. Whenever she had visitors in her apartment, she kept her door firmly shut. She became like Grandma. No one could go past her room without her cringing slightly. Laura’s friends and family thought she was having the same symptoms as Grandma’s mental illness. She assured them she wasn’t, but in her heart of hearts, she doubted she could stay sane with the box in her hands. 

More than once Laura wanted to take the box and burn it. She didn’t care what was in it- she needed to be rid of it. 

As a final resolve to have a clean conscience, Laura pretended the box wasn’t there. 

Now, she was at Grandma’s side, and the box was in her carry-on bag. The bag was between her feet as she held Grandma’s hand. She could the nursing home staff shake their heads as they passed by Grandma’s door. 

“I’m sorry...” Grandma had whispered more than once. Laura stroked her hand. “It’s okay,” she whispered back. 

When Grandma finally passed on, Laura wasn’t sure what to do. She still held Grandma’s hand. Was she supposed to open the box? 

She put the box on her lap, her tears falling where Grandma’s had so many years before. The key was in her hand. She felt like she should lay the box to rest with Grandma. It had been a torment for so long. 

The key grew warm in her hand as she held on to it. She was angry. Hot tears rolled down her face and onto the box. Why did Grandma make her keep the box? It never stopped nagging her. It was the ticking of an old clock in the silence. It never became background noise. It became louder every minute, until the tick had become a gong. It had shackled her mind, Grandma’s mind, her great-grandmother's mind, and all the women before her. 

 It was the task of protecting it that had driven Grandma insane. She knew it. 

Laura’s hands shook. She detested the box, and Grandma’s last wishes were for her to open it to “terminate the secret.” What did it matter now? 

Several minutes of struggling went by. Laura’s head hung over the box. Why did she have it? 

She moved her hand with the key, lifting it to the artificial light. It glistened unnaturally. She stuck the key into the hole on the box violently. She heard a click as she turned the lock. 

She could finally open the box, but she almost didn’t want to. 

“C’mon! It was Grandma’s last wish!” she cried to herself. 

Slowly she raised the lid. Her heart leaped in her chest. The box thudded onto the floor.  

“Grandma! You could have been redeemed!” 

The box? It was empty.