The Measure of Things

The lights slowly began to dim as the tone signaling the start of the show rang throughout the theater. People filed into the seats just in time for the lights to completely go out. A wave of silence swept over the audience. The curtains opened slowly revealing the stage with three spotlights. On the left, an old man sat in a chair, a box placed as his feet. On the right, four children crouched around an identical box. No one moved, frozen as if the moment had been paused or captured by some realistic photograph. The third spotlight was empty. The clacking of heels rang, announcing the singular figure that made its way into the spotlight. A young woman in a simple white dress came to stop in the center of the spotlight, and let her gaze drift as she surveyed the crowd in front of her.

“Ladies and gentleman. What is it, exactly, that you value in your lives? What worth does it hold for you and those around you? We measure everything in life - our time, our wealth, our number of friends. We rank and calculate and compare. But what does it all mean? What does it really mean, the measure of things?”

Behind her, the two spotlights narrowed in on the boxes, pushing the people behind them into darkness. The metal of the boxes glinted in the focused light. The narrator resumed her speech.

“What you see before you is a time capsule, its past and its future. Let us see how it plays out.”

And with those words, the narrator’s spotlight dimmed and she disappeared off stage. At the same time, the other spotlights expanded to once more encompass the figures, only this time, they were not frozen. The old man opened the box in front of him. He then reached behind him and brought forward a burlap bag. He dipped his hand inside the bag and pulled out a bright red toy car in a box, with the words Hot Wheels VW Beach Bomb visible in that classic white script. The man stared at the car in his hands, as if lost in thought. In front of him, two children - a boy and girl - ran onto the stage wearing party hats.

“This was one of my first presents from you. I liked you even back then, and couldn’t bear to even take it out of its package. I’ve kept it all these years, all for you.”

As the old man narrated, the memory played out in front of him. The girl took out a small present, handing it to the boy who opened it immediately. Awe and pure joy filled his face at the opened gift - an exact replica of the car the man now held. Laughing, the two children ran off stage. Memory now ended, the man placed the car in the time capsule, and froze once more.

On the other side of the stage, the four children twittered excitedly, clamoring to open the mysterious box. Finally managing to break it open, one boy reached in and pulled out a slightly aged version of the car. He immediately began jumping up and down in excitement.

“Oh my god! Do you know what this is?! This is a Hot Wheels VW Beam Bomb! This is super rare, and worth so much money.”

The other boy in the group piped up. “That’s awesome. We should totally sell it!”

“No way!” the first boy cried indignantly. “This is worth so much more than the money. I have to add it to my collection. Best day ever!” And with a final squeal, he ran off stage.

The other children resumed looking at the box, and froze too.

The old man moved again, this time taking a dollar bill out of his bag. 

“This was the first dollar I ever made. I remember opening that lemonade stand just so I would have enough to buy you a present. I spent the rest of my money to get you that doll set for your birthday, but I couldn’t bear to part with this. I hope you can forgive me.”

With a small smile on his face, he watched in front of him as a young boy ran on stage with a tray of cups, calling out if anyone wanted lemonade, before running off stage again. The man gently folded the dollar bill and added it to the capsule.

On the other side, the second boy reached in and pulled out a dollar bill. With a scoff, he shoved it in his pocket.

“This isn’t even worth anything, especially since that cash car is gone now. I guess money is money though”

The boy stalked off stage with that dollar bill in his pocket.

Once he had cleared the stage, the old man resumed his actions. He took out a necklace. The fake jewels caught the spotlight. While clear that it was an obvious fake, its beauty still sparkled in the bright glow of the stage.

“I couldn’t afford a ring for the longest time, but I gave you this as my promise. I can’t believe you kept it all these years, but I am honored you did, my love.”

Before him, a young man and young girl walked arm in arm until center stage. The man got down on one knee and held out the necklace. With tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, the young girl accepted. The young man rose to clasp it around her neck, and together they walked off stage, once more arm in arm. The old man added the necklace to the box.

The younger of the two girls reached into the box and pulled out the necklace. Both girls stared in awe at the pretty gems. Suddenly, the youngest squealed. “This is perfect! I can give this to mommy for her birthday!”

The older girl put a hand on the other to calm her down. “It’s a really nice necklace. What if it means something to whoever put the box here?”

The other girl paused for a second. “I think it’s okay. The boys already took stuff, and I think that whoever left the box here probably wanted someone to find it. And at least I’m not keeping it for myself.” With that, the young girl took the necklace, and still looking at it, walked off stage. The remaining girl froze, looking in the direction the other one’s exit.

The man reached into the bag and pulled out the final item - a letter. He held the envelope gently and stared at it with a look filled with fondness and sorrow. This time, as he spoke, the stage remained empty.

“I miss you so much my dear. But I haven’t forgotten you. I’ve written everything of our life, our adventures, and our love here. I hope, someday, when someone finds this in the future, that this inspires them, to learn what love looked like for us, in our time. I hope they will understand what these items meant to me. What you meant to me.”

The man carefully placed the envelope in the box, and closed the lid. He picked the box up and walked off stage, the spotlight fading out to nothing in his absence. The only light now shone on the solo remaining figure of the girl who now took her turn to reach into the capsule. She pulled out the letter, and opening it cautiously, paused as she read through the several pages. She put a hand to her mouth as unshed tears glisten in her eyes. Silently, she folded the pages back into the envelope, and closed the lid of the capsule. She picked the box up, and with letter in hand, began walking across the stage. The lights on the left turned on, illuminating two gravestones, side by side. A vase of flowers, now dead, sat on one of the stones. The girl gently laid the box between the two headstones. She picked a nearby flower and replaced the ones in the vase. Finally, she took the letter and slipped it under the vase. Resting a hand on each stone, she spoke softly. “I understand.”

The lights went out, and the right spotlight flashed on again, revealing the narrator once more. With slow and measured steps, she walked back to her spot on center stage, tracked by the light. 

“How do we value things and their meaning? How do others? We measure sentimentality, monetarily, and emotionally. We have seen the world through different times and different eyes. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I will ask you once more:

What do you value? And what is it worth?”