Little Magic Boxes

Not long ago, only a lifetime, this room was comfortable, warm, colorful. It was a place for creativity and peace. It reflected me. Then one day, a small package arrived. Though it was meticulously wrapped; the name of the sender was smudged. I was surprised and excited. It had been so long since I had received a gift.

I carefully unwrapped the package and found a small box, the inside was lined with midnight blue velvet. On the velvet rested a smile. One so brilliant and charming, I had to smile back. There wasn’t anything else I could do when I saw a smile like that. So, I sent one of my smiles. Another package came. With the smile came questions and then answers, more smiles with jokes and laughter, lavish praise for my wit and the tapestries I wove. This room, my comfortable room, now was bathed in light and looked pretty.

The sorcerer gave hints of his dreams and ambitions. Sometimes there were pauses between the small gifts. Then there’d be a flurry of them, many in one day. I asked why, I asked what, but only received more tiny boxes with smiles, grins, and laughter.

Then suddenly those gifts stopped. The mail did not come, the bright light that the boxes had brought with them, was turned off. The door was left open, allowing dusk and night to creep in.

Stunned I sat in the dark. I tried to send boxes of my own, but they went unopened. With each box I sent, I lost a little of me. What charm had been hidden in those little boxes?

How could I break the spell? Why had the sorcerer taken my smile, my voice, my thoughts, my very shadow? How had I let him slip behind my defenses?

In the darkened room I felt lost, not at home, not myself anymore. I tried to search for the person I used to be. The person who enjoyed her own company and believed in her skills, who still had dreams and hopes.

But the room was empty, I was invisible.

Exhausted, I fell asleep, taking refuse in my dreams where I had always been in charge. The dreams that I wrote, directed, and starred in. But I got lost in the scripts, forgot my lines, stumbled over dogeared pages and watched the words bleed off the paper …

… A child was lost. It pressed itself against the side of the tall building. It feared the many dark shadows, watched strangers rush by. The child cried without sound. It fled, turned a corner, ran against the wind, into the shadows. The child silently screamed for help. Come, take my hand. A stranger took the child's hand …

Cut

… The breeze barely stirred the air. The flowers had faded, the bees blown away. Crows cawed from up high, a coyote cowered among the shrubs. I let a snowflake melt on my tongue. Then I opened my eyes. The trees were too tall, the shadows too grey, the light too dim, the paw prints too deep, the red trail too fresh. My scream too silent ...

Cut!

… The icy wind and the lashing rain fought against my every step. My feet sank deep into the heavy wet sand. Frigid water sluiced over my bare toes. The waves crashed soundlessly against the rocks. I could hear the pounding heartbeat of my enemy, felt the fetid breath of the monster at my back, inside me ...

Cut.

… The setting sun filtered through the dusty, moist air and painted the sky orange. Misshapen shrubbery and stunted trees that lined the pond reflected on the molten copper surface of the water. I stripped and slipped silently into the lake. The scalding heat burned my skin and devoured me …

Cut!

… The empty house was familiar. My footsteps echoed through the rooms. I could hear memories of play, arguments, slammed doors, shouts, and laughter. Roaming from room to room, I called out for help, but my words were trapped inside soap bubbles that drifted away. My feet sank through the stair risers. I fell …

Still, I couldn’t find myself. Where was I? I sensed a hole inside, a hole where I used to be. A hole the size of all those little empty boxes. The magic in those boxes made me forget that I could think and speak for myself. I must keep searching for I was less than a shadow of who I used to be. I was invisible.

 … At the masquerade I feasted on pheasant, I sipped shiraz and demolished my dessert, but all I tasted was air. The banter was banal, the repartee wry. I could not see, was not heard ...

… I ran frantically through abandoned airports, dodging statues, and alien obstacles, never reaching who or what I sought ....

… Endlessly I fought my demons, never a win nor a loss ...

… I climbed mountains, couldn’t feel the sharp granite cut my skin, never reached the top ...

… I dragged through dry deserts without hope of deliverance. The horizon always out of reach ...

Cut, cut, cut, and cut!

… I stared down a long lane that stretches to its vanishing point. Dozens of mirrored doors reflected nothing. I watched myself shrink as I tried each one. Some shut as I came close, others let my hand pass through the glass. Here I heard a memory, there I sensed a promise. My knocks went unanswered.

The last door, no bigger than a dot was open. A molecule, and with it all of me slipped inside. I settled in the seat closest to the door. I knew I’d be unmasked as a sinner, a fraud, yet I forced a whisper past my lips. A desperate cry to be heard, to be seen.

I slept.

When I woke up the morning sun played with the dust that hung in the air while it swept the last of the night and the boxes from the room. My eyes recognized colors. Carefully, on unsteady feet, my shadow joined me.

I felt.

I felt stronger, strong enough that I might sit, stand and walk. I might go somewhere new. I vowed to whisper and speak, even shout, and I would hear myself. I'd dance and sing, and if anyone cringed at the sight, I promised to laugh. I listened to the birds greet their mates, I heard the wind tug on the windows, I smelled my coffee and tasted my food.

Then the mail brought me another little box. Inside was an apology, the key to break the spell and the hope I wouldn’t use it. I didn't use the key. I used my new-found strength to break the spell.

I am free.