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The Box

I don't know why each year is the same, but it is. I'm normally a very organized person, but every year, like a secret to me alone, Christmas springs forth with such rapidity that I barely have a chance to shop. I don't buy that many presents, but even my meager amount is almost too much to deal with. I scurry about town, struggling to find something appropriate for the few people I grace with presents, and every year is a race down to the wire. Of course, this year was no exception.

I decided to go down to Santa Monica for my last gift. I had managed, through painstaking effort, to find something for nearly everyone. One last friend posed the final challenge, and what a challenge she was. It is the curse of age that one finally reaches the point where one has everything one wants that is affordable. She had reached this age, but that somehow did not absolve me of the obligation of finding a gift. The race was on, and even though I was spent, completely exhausted shopping for everyone else, I had a duty to fulfill.

Main Street was where the shops were, or at least where they used to be. When I got down there, I realized I hadn't been in this area of town for quite a while. All the quaint shops I used to patronize were gone. The area had been going downhill for some time and was only now regenerating itself, a phoenix rising from the ashes. Many of the stores were empty shells, some were quite new, and only a few were like the ones I remembered.

I walked down the street, glancing in this window and that. The clothing stores didn't seem to have anything appealing, the homemaker shops left me unimpressed, and the antique stores didn't seem to have their usual magic. Window after window had the same, uninspiring goods for sale. Nothing there for me, I thought. Maybe this time I would lose the race. Time was running out and I felt my panic start to rise. Why do I wait so long every year? Did I not see this coming? Do I enjoy the stress?

I came upon a row of stores clearly slated for demolition. The windows were dirty, and some of them had been taped already. I glanced in the windows anyway, usually to find dingy, bare carpets which once proudly displayed all sorts of wondrous things for sale. No more, though.

Until I came to one shop. I thought, at first, that it was closed, even though it had a display filled with various curios. The door was slightly ajar, which was my only clue that the store was still in business. I casually peeked at what was being offered and found nothing to my liking. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I noticed an obelisk. Now, obelisks are nothing fascinating, if you ask me. But this one was different. It was about twelve inches tall and made of clear glass. It had channels cut into each side, and the point was very finely shaped. As I looked at it, admiring the workmanship, I noticed it had a slight color to it. It appeared to be blue, very faint but definitely blue. As I looked, the way it captured the sun seem to make it change color a bit. The blue seemed to get a bit darker as I moved side to side. Actually, it seemed to be more of a purple. As I stared at it, it slowly changed from purple to red, then orange, then yellow. I couldn't believe my eyes. This was something worth investigating. Whatever it cost, I knew I had found my last gift.

I timidly poked at the front door to the store, still not convinced that it was open for business. As I gingerly entered, I noticed that the inside was even darker than it seemed from outside. The store was narrow, with shelves on the wall and down the middle. There was barely enough room to walk. Each shelf seemed to be filled with junk of one sort or another, not at all as impressive as the obelisk which led me in here to begin with.

I called out a hello, hoping some clerk was in the back. No response. I roamed about the shelves, seeing one dreary object after another, and found myself at the back of the store, in front of a bead curtain. I called out again. No response.

"May I help you?" a voice asked from behind me. I almost jumped out of my skin.

I quickly spun around to see a withered old man looking quizzically at me. He was a short man, made even shorter by his stoop. He had a slight hump on his back and hands that were so gnarled I couldn't quite figure out if he could use them or not.

"May I help you," he asked again, this time with a bit more impatience.

I fumbled for a bit, trying to figure out how he got behind me. "Uh, I would like to look at the obelisk you have in the display," I stammered.

"We don't have any," the man said, rather brusquely I thought. It seemed to me he should be more congenial if he wants to stay in business.

"But I saw one in the window," I insisted. "It's about a foot tall, made out of glass, and seems to change color." This last part I mumbled a bit, because I knew how it sounded. I insisted nonetheless.

"Nope, we don't have anything like that," the man shook his head. I was annoyed with his certainty. I went over to the display to show him. He stayed where he was.

"Look, it's right here," I started, pointing to the middle of the display case. He just looked at me, ignoring where I was pointing. I looked at the display to make sure I was pointing directly at it, so there could be no mistake.

It wasn't there. Now, I know I saw it; I know it was there just a few moments ago. All that was there now was a dirty, dusty carpet which had a clean spot, about the size of the base of the obelisk I thought I saw. He's playing tricks on me, I thought. It didn't occur to me to wonder why he would play tricks; there didn't seem to be any sense in this at all.

"Nope," he said. "We never had anything like that."

"But," was all I could say. How can you say anything intelligent when you seem to be losing your mind?

I stood there for quite some time, trying desperately to make sense of all of it. The man continued to look at me, now with a touch of pity.

"What were you looking for, young man?" he asked.

Trying to salvage something from this, I told him of my dilemma.

"She has everything, you say," he responded. A smile quickly flashed across his face. "Wait right here; I'll be back in a moment."

I reluctantly decided to wait. I had run out of options. I heard him shuffle in the back, behind the bead curtain. Boxes were moved and opened, items were dragged across wooden shelves, and then there was silence. "Here it is," he said with some satisfaction.

He appeared from behind the curtain, holding a small wooden box. "This," he said, "is most unusual."

What he handed me was indeed a bit unusual, although not overly so. It was a box made of dark wood, probably walnut, with some inlay work in some sort of a crosshatch pattern. The latch and hinges were tarnished brass, as far as I could tell. It looked old. I turned it over in my hand. It seemed a bit heavy for its size.

I started to open it. "No!" he said with such ferocity it gave me a start. He clasped my hand in both of his and held it firmly. "This must be opened by only your friend, no one else."

"What's in it?" I asked. He smiled a crooked smile and said "A surprise."

Hmm, I thought, not terribly helpful. Still, I was running out of time and I hadn't found anything else even close to being acceptable. The wood was nicely worked, even though the latch seemed to be a bit flimsy.

"How much," I asked. He tilted his head, squinted at me, and said "Twenty dollars."

"Twenty?" It seemed a bit much. He noticed my hesitancy and shot out "Fifteen".

"Tax included?" I pushed, always the shrewd bargainer. He sighed. "Sure," he said, "tax included."

"Okay," I agreed. For fifteen bucks, if she didn't like it, I would take it for myself.

He took the box from me and put it in a paper bag. "Remember, only your friend is to open this," he stared at me. "Understand?"

"Sure," I said, sensing that this point was important to him, but also eager to conclude my business and get away.

"You won't forget?" he insisted. I assured him I would not.

"Fine, fine," he said, as he took my money. "She'll be quite happy with it, I assure you."

How he could give such an assurance, I didn't know, but I was not willing to discuss the point. I had finished my shopping and was eager to leave. He held the door open for me as I left.

"Only her, no one else," he reminded me. I waved to him and said nothing.

I have to admit his insistence made me quite curious. What could possibly be in the box? Even if there was nothing in there, or something you would want to immediately throw away, it was worth the money. Still...

My car was parked several blocks away, and with each step I grew more curious. I had promised the man I wouldn't open the box, but I was beginning to rue that promise. My word was my word, but I was beginning to wish I hadn't given it so readily.

I opened the car door and threw the bag on the passenger's seat. I was a little too rough, though, and the box fell out of the bag and onto the floor. When it hit, the latch gave way and the lid opened just a bit.

Well, I hadn't really opened it, had I? I had kept my promise, hadn't I? Could I help it if the box opened by itself? Besides, wasn't this box mine to do with what I wanted?

I opened the lid all the way and peered inside.

Empty. What a sucker. I let this weird old man sell me an empty box and then convince me not to open it until I was far away. Boy, was I dumb. I thought about taking it back to him, but it really was nicely made and, as I said, worth the money even if it was empty. It would make a good gift, no matter what. Besides, I didn't want him thinking I went back on my word.

As I sat there, looking at the box, I started to think about other Christmases I have had. The one I remembered best was the one year I spent Christmas with my grandmother. She lived on the east coast in a house my grandfather built for her. A two-story house with wooden floors of polished maple and cherry, it had a porch with balustrades where we sat, watching the fireflies in the summer. During the winter, we would stand on it and look out at the snow-covered streets, brightly lit by the moon on cold, crisp evenings. I remember looking out on Christmas morning to a white blanket of snow like I had never seen before. Living in Southern California, the only snow I ever saw was on television. This was real. For a ten year old boy, this was exciting. This was a real Christmas. I raced downstairs to look at all the presents under the tree we had so laboriously decorated the days before. There must have been about a million gifts, all brightly wrapped, waiting to be torn asunder for the secrets they held. The family sat around the tree and wrapping paper flew through the air. The excitement was almost too much to bear. The thrill of being in a strange, but familiar, house, the smell of the fir tree, the presents, it was all too much. Never had I felt such excitement, even other Christmases before or since. After the mound of paper was swept away, we children ran outside to experience snow for the first time.

It was a bright, cold day, perfect for making snow angels and exploring what appeared to be a brand new world. My breath would make little clouds in the air, my shoes would making shushing sounds as I walked. When we stopped to listen, just listen, to the snow, all we could hear was silence. It was magnificent.

After a while, I looked up at the sky and noticed something strange. The sky seemed to sparkle. Little flashes of light would dance about, turning the world into something even more strange and wonderful. It was starting to snow, but I had never seen this before, so I didn't know what it was. It was beautiful, as any boy's first snow would be. The memories are still vivid.

When we tired of playing in the cold and glorious sparkles, we went back inside the warm house. As we entered the door, we were immediately struck by the smells of Christmas food. My grandmother was an excellent cook, as everyone acknowledged, and she was in fine form that day. The roast, the gravy, the potatoes, the cookies, the pies, food as far as a young boy could see. The aromas danced about the room, making hunger something to treasure. The feast was more than a soul could bear. Never had I enjoyed a meal, or a Christmas, such as that one. It was the last Christmas my grandmother would have before she passed on. That made it even more special to me, and I remember it fondly to this day.

As I sat in my car thinking about all of this, a smile planted itself firmly on my face. All throughout the trip back home, I kept thinking of that Christmas and the joy and wonder that little boy had. Christmas is always special for little children, but that one set a standard never to be met again. The memory of it is still strong.

When I got home, I wrapped the box up to give as a gift. And it was quite some time before I realized the box hadn't been empty after all.

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