The Little Box
Click below to hear me read this story.
I stood with my back to the mirror. The mirror had been turned around so only its dull gray back showed. That had been Mommy's idea. She told Daddy I looked at myself too much for a six year old.
Now she was going through my desk drawers. She was always inspecting something. Sometimes it was my bathroom or my closet or my fingernails. If I was really lucky I'd pass with an, "It's o.k.," but that was rare. Today she was checking all the drawers and cupboards in my bedroom to see that they were neat and organized.
I looked at her with a knot in my stomach. She bent over to open a lower drawer and her thick brown hair fell forward in waves hiding her face. For a second I felt safe.
The sun was shining brightly from the windows behind us. It felt warm and good on my shoulder and cheek.
She moved closer to the cupboard. My heart beat faster. I felt the pulse of it in my head. Thump. Thump. I couldn't hear anything else. My mind darted. She moved her hand toward the cupboard. My mind tripped and darted again.
The desk was covered with thick layers of paint, the last being a pale green. I hoped this would make the door stick. It always stuck on me. But Mommy was bigger and stronger, much stronger.
My palms were slick with sweat. What would I say? Maybe she wouldn't see it.
The sun reflected off the blonde wood floor. It hurt my eyes. She pulled at the green handle and the door popped open.
I had curled my toes so tightly inside my socks they began to ache. The room was very quiet. I looked at Mommy's back as she reached inside the cupboard. My mouth felt dry, my tongue thick; I tried hard to swallow.
She pulled out the small cardboard box. I had closed the top like I had seen her do, so it would stay shut by itself. Maybe she wouldn't open it.
She did.
She didn't move for a second then she whirled around and thrust the box toward me.
"What's this for?" her words cut through the silence. She glared at me through crossed brows.
I could feel the hot tears coming. I wanted to run. I wanted to snatch the box from her. I froze.
She began pulling the contents from the box and throwing them on the desk: yellow rose shaped soap, wash cloth, small comb, saltine crackers,...
She looked at me again like a mad cat.
"I was gonna run away," I heard myself blurting. "but I'm not gonna anymore; I promise. Mommy, I promise I won't."
"Why?"
But she knew why. My bruised friend in the mirror knew why. We all knew why.
Comments
Wow Randy, just read this and was captured from start to finish, never knew what was coming next...the sign of a great writer.
Well, this was captivating and so very well written. I'm sorry you had to go through that but, having read through the comments, I also glad to here that you have reconciled with each other. A great testament to your strength. It would have been easier for you to just give up. Voted up and awesome.
What a story... couldn't stop reading. I know the feeling you get from those inspections, used to live like that. You really found the way to describe it, those sweaty hands and a the heartbeats of fear. It was great!
Yes, a very sad tale I feel like I've lived through before.
My stomach was in knots! I have felt this afraid too
Everyone has stated it so well, I can only say the style of writing is superb!
You created a desire in me to reach out and take the girl's hand and protect her, left me with a powerful desire to know the rest of the story.
Bravo.
This was just as good as your poetry. Makes me wish I took this writing thing more seriously and wrote some great stuff like this.
two years of comments, I'm almost afraid to say a thing... But I have to - beautifully written & heart-breakingly evocative. You've written too much for me to go through - but I'm glad to have followed your profile advice - you're a gem, Randy.
I found your works and I have to say, I will not offer you words that are cliche, for I hate them myself in the affairs of abuse. But what I will say, is thank you. Thank you for making us "feel" and realize that we can all heal from the past pains of abuse, and we can overcome.
Blessings,
Laurie
Well written and captivating...
I found you commenting on the Hub of a poet I admire and am glad that I did. I went to your profile page; read the interview and this Hub and the comments. I shared the anxiety of your childhood and the rigidity of your mother before and after the box was opened. The sin of vanity is not one that I've ever considered despite my Catholic background. The reversed mirror created a captivating image and metaphor from the outset. The forgiveness expressed through the comments was inspirational.
Very well written and powerful Randy. You had me hooked on knowing what was in the cupboard and in the box. It was an interesting effect because first I thought the little girl had something shameful in there but then the climax reveals that all the shame belongs to the mother.
Arthur Windermere said above: "You're a good writer, Randy. And I'm not easy to please", I second the motion. I'll be reading more.
This was so expressive and kept me waiting to see what was next. Thanks for sharing.
That was a sad but beautiful poem good work.
This is powerful writing. The tension fills the reader. Your use of nonverbal communication is huge. This is one of the finest reads I've had in a long, long time. I won't address the experience as many already have. The writing - wow! Thank you for suggesting this on your profile. Now I'll go read the other one...
Very nice Hub ! Did you feel release writing it ? Also glad she is gone :)
This broke my heart. It's beautifully written and straightforward but yet riddled with layers pain.
I admire you greatly for sharing.
I suppose that like pottery we have to go through the fire to give us the strength to survive and bring out the beauty that is hidden in our dull soft clay. My sympathy for what you went through and congrtulations on what you did with it.
I know the pain of being a vulnerable child. My mirror in my room reflected a broken heart and tear filled sad boy staring back at me. I have never been comfortable looking at myself in a mirror ever since.
The pain stayed with me for many years. Thank you for sharing a piece of your anguish and bruised reflection of many years ago.
I am happy that you and your mom have become friends again, it is not a good thing to go to our graves filled with anger and regrets. Peace and hugs
This story reveals so much more than the content of its words. There were no accusations but the clues were there and led right down the path where you wanted us to go and find what you could not tell us with the same impact. This is an excellent work in my opinion. You have a lot of talent in finding objects and symbols that help to transfer your message. I hope this worked out for you in the long run but that will be up to you to share. WB
Hey Randy,
From what I gather in the comments, this isn't just a first-person short-short story, but a real event. Even so, it's very powerful. You're a good writer, Randy. And I'm not easy to please.
A more frivolous thought: I don't recall ever hearing the word 'saltine.' I see it all the time in writing. Saltine crackers. But I've never heard anyone refer to crackers as saltine before.
Awesome, haunting, painful story. It seems that at least your alter ego has "run away from home" eve if, like you said, you still have trouble breaking rules." go ahead, break 'em, we won't tell.....Eddie
Fantastic writing, especially for a short "excerpt" of sorts...
I was glad to read in the comments that you and your mom are friends now. I always prefer happy endings!
Steve
of course it is, your works are good to read and it's free LOL
the picture charmed me to read...
when I opened the box, every word of it thrilled me to uncover more...until I found what I was looking for.
you're a great writer RB. this hub made me to yearn for more :) loved it!
For all its pain, this is a beautiful piece of writing RB.
A beautiful and haunting Hub, Randy. I really enjoyed reading that, and am off to get lost in a few more.
Thanks for sharing that :)
This was haunting, Randy - from the photo to the first paragraph. Keep writing!
~G
Now that's just downright SPOOKY!
RB, this is very moving, and, regarding your last comment to Tom, it is amazing how experiences like that create strength. It's testimony to the old saying...what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. Or something like that, I've never been great at memorizing or remembering old sayings verbatim. And it's amazing to me how differently we all process such experiences, but the end result always seems to be one extreme or the other, like either sticking to the rules or doing everything possible to break them.
Thanks for sharing in such a creative and captivating way.
Nice tension. Very nice execution.
We have similar experiences.
It's funny how the little powerless boy can come back sometimes, filling me with fear and paranoia. Then I see it's him, and I could almost laugh if I wasn't quite so intent on getting my pulse rate down.
There is something else that I thought of (a good sign - that I am still thinking about it) is how much you have accomplised with such a short piece. The emotions we feel for the little girl; the way we want to take her in our arms and hold her, comfort her; how we'd turn the damn mirror around for her if she wants. A pretty big accomplishment for a writer with an economy of words. Bravo!
Randy,
The first thing that popped in my head was 'mommy dearest'. I'm so sorry you had to endure that. I'm also very glad you and your mom have made your peace.
Very sad, touching and all too human. Thanks for sharing a part of your life You're a writer after my own heart :)
I'm very impressed. I was totally captivated. It is very tempting to ask you questions: Why was the little girl bruised? What had happened? But all short stories end somewhat cryptically, and leave the answers to the reader's imagination. This is what they are supposed to do, and you have done it expertly. Of course, I don't know those writers so I can't badger them incessantly until they fess up. Don't tell me if you don't want to, and don't tell me here.
You have quite a talent, Randy. I feel like you are discovering that about yourself, and I'm glad you have found a place to write it, and feel lucky that I am privy to this "birth." Thank you for sharing this. It's touching.
P.S. When the heck did you publish this? Last night after your bubble bath?
WOW! Is this an excerpt from a book you're writing or a short story?
Very nicely written! I really got engaged by this and felt the tension rise. My sense of anticipation was satisfied and the image developed beautifully.
WANT MORE PLEASE!!
You Have me. WHY? Good pacing. I like the way your sentences are spaced....added dramatic effect.
What a haunting tale. You poor thing you. Mommy was obsessed with keeping you in check. Sounds like she'd had a rotten childhood herself.
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