The Story Box

Gunni turned the box over in his little hands, as if it would change somehow from what it had always been. It didn’t, of course. It was just a box, maybe big enough to fit a chapter book in. The little ones he got from his classroom library, not the big ones Ine and his parents liked to read. It seemed bigger in his hands than it had on the dresser in Mom and Dad’s room. “I don’t need a jewelry box, Mom.”

“You’re young, don’t rule it out.” Mom chuckled, sitting down in her favourite armchair and gesturing for him to take a seat in Dad’s next to it. Gunni climbed onto the seat, and leaned over its arm to set the box on the table between them. “That box has been in our family for generations. It was my mother’s, before it was mine, and my grandfather’s before that.”

“Really?” Gunni leaned a little further to turn on the lamp, brushing a lock of wavy brown hair back behind his ear as he examined the box. It... did look kinda beat up, now that he was actually looking at it. Like it had maybe been dropped a few times, and fixed a few more. When he ran his fingers over the lid there was a spot that felt sorta sticky, like someone had peeled a sticker off of the dark wood. He flipped open the little latch, and lifted the lid to see deep red fabric on the bottom of the inside, with polka dotted blue paper on the sides.

“But, if you’re giving it away...” he shut the lid and looked back up at Mom, who had pulled her own dark hair from its bun and was working it into a braid. “Why not give it to Ine?” his older sister would love this box, would probably beg Dad to let her borrow his woodworking tools to decorate it. It was kinda plain, after all.

“This box is special, Gunni.” Mom said, which wasn’t an answer. “You know those stories Grandma likes to tell, when we visit?”

Gunni nodded. Grandma had the coolest stories!

“Well, all those stories happened when she had this box.” Mom opened the lid, and set the box back down on the table, opening it so he could see the underside of the lid. It was covered in shapes and squiggles, rows and rows of them in the same dark thin lines, like Dad made sometimes with his fancy wood pen Gunni wasn’t allowed to touch.

“Why’s it got all those wiggles on it?” he asked, and Mom snorted.

“Right, you don’t learn cursive until next year,” she said, like that explained everything. “These are names, Gunni. The names of everyone in our family who’s owned this box.” Mom ran her fingers over the name-squiggles, then tapped the one fourth from last. “This is my great-aunt’s name,” she moved her finger over one squiggle, “and this is your grandma’s.”

“Then yours?” Gunni pointed at the next squiggle in line, and Mom nodded.

“And this last one is your name.” Mom pushed the box a little closer to him, and if he squinted it sorta looked like his name?

“Why?”

“Like I said, it’s special.” Mom winked. “This is our family’s story box, Gunni.”

“What’s that mean?” he asked, looking up at Mom. She smiled, and leaned over to ruffle his hair.

“It means, you’re very special,” she said, but she said that all the time. “The story box brings stories into your life. Incredible stories, and plain ones too. Some so plain you don’t even know it’s a story until it’s over. But all of them, every last one, will help you grow into the best person you can be.”

Mom’s hand slid down to cup his cheek as she spoke, her voice going soft. Gunni pulled a face at her. “You’re being mushy.”

“You’re my baby, I’m allowed.” Mom teased, giving his cheek a pinch. “But the most important thing is, no matter what mementos those stories leave you with, you can put them in this box, and it will be safe.”

“Even if I get a fire sword?” Gunni asked, and Mom laughed.

“Maybe not a fire sword. That would be a little bit too big for the box.” Mom shut the lid, and handed the box back to him. “Go find somewhere for this in your room.”

“Yes, Mom.” Gunni took the box, and hurried to his room, looking around. The bookshelf, he decided after a moment. He had to set it on his bed first though, and move his dinos around to make room. The box only barely fit when he was done, but it did fit, and he opened up the lid to lean against the back of the shelf. There were so many names written on the underside of the lid, over a dozen of them! He couldn’t read the squiggles they were written with, or the funny shapes that made up the ones at the very start of the list, but still...

A story box sounded like a box that should tell stories. That would be way cooler than whatever it was Mom had been talking about. Grandma’s stories were cooler than Grandpa’s or Mémé’s, but all of them had stories. Everyone had stories!

He frowned, looking at the list of names. Maybe everyone had a story box? Only, none of his friends had gotten one, and some of them were older than him. Maybe other people just didn’t call it a story box, that made sense. And Dad probably gave his to Ine, or made one for her in his workshop! Gunni nodded, satisfied, and ran his finger over the rows of name-squiggles, starting at the top. It really would be cool if the box could tell him even just some of the stories that had gone with these names.

A thought stuck him, and Gunni dropped the lid shut with a gasp. Mom had owned this box! Mom read him bedtime stories every night. Tonight, he could ask to hear one of her stories from the box, the coolest one she had! Before that, though... Gunni eyed the box, made of plain and dinged up wood. A box full of cool stories should look cool, like how superheroes needed a super costume before they were ready to save people.

“Hey Mom?” he called, heading back out towards the living room. “Can I ask Ine to help me decorate the story box?”

“Hmm, that depends.” Mom looked up from her book. “What do you want to do to it?”

Gunni opened his mouth, then closed it again. He hadn’t thought that far. He’d only even mentioned his sister because she liked to draw and stuff, and had probably already decorated her own story box.

“That box is very old, Gunni.” Mom tucked a bookmark into her book, and set it on the table. “It’s special to our family. Whatever you do to it, everyone after you will have to live with.”

“So... I shouldn’t?”

“You should think very carefully about it.” Mom patted her lap, and Gunni climbed into the armchair with her. “When I got the box, I wanted to paint it. I wanted it bright purple, with glittery pink hearts all over.” Gunni made a face, and Mom chuckled. “My mom didn’t let me. I bet you’re happy about that, right?”

He nodded. Hearts were for Valentine’s day, and mushy grown-ups.

“What would you ask Ine to put on the box?”

“Dinosaurs.” Gunni said, without hesitation. Everyone liked dinosaurs.

“Then we’ll get you some dino stickers next time we go to the store, how about that?” Mom brushed his hair back with a smile. “That way, when it’s your turn to pass it on, you’ll be able to clean it up again.”

“Can they be the fancy stickers?”

“Of course.” Mom bent to press a kiss to his forehead. “But I’m only buying one sheet for you. The rest, you’ll have to save up your allowance for.”

“Alright.” Gunni smiled, and gave Mom a hug.

“I’m glad you like the box.” Mom chuckled, running a hand through his hair again.

“It’s cool.”

“But not cool enough without dino stickers?”

“It’s gonna look cool with dino stickers.”

“Of course.” Mom smiled, her arms wrapping around him. “I love you, Gunni.”

“Love you too, Mom.”