Fiction logo

Give Up The Box

A suspicious box can unleash a new you

By Zel HarrisonPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 6 min read
Give Up The Box
Photo by Leone Venter on Unsplash

A suspicious box may unleash the inner you.

I woke up this morning with the strangest thought in my head. “What happened to the fury and fire ball in your belly?", the weird voice said. Although I laughed, my inner consciousness told me that I was on to something.

I did a fact check and discovered some articles about the first chakra connection to physical energy. I was feeling the wildish person inside was on hiatus. I know this, because I stopped doing the spontaneous mischievous throw caution to the wind things, like taking a midnight drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, or walking in field of wild horses. I was the life of the party like everyone else then, and with two glasses of Chardonnay, I would tell all.

By Kevin Kelly on Unsplash

My work buddies and friends packed my small apartment, and sometimes we watched the Mindy project all night. I am nothing like I was a year ago. My face to face honest self-appraisals in the mirror have turned to an almost embarrassed quick check. I cover my breasts, and wrap from my waist down with a towel. I don’t care to look at myself, just because. I don’t feel that free feeling anymore, and feel like I am carrying a huge weight on my shoulders. Maybe there is more to this that I haven’t examined.

A year ago, the first thing in the morning, I did this outrageous dance in front of the mirror before getting ready for work. I don’t know who I was emulating, but my arms and legs were wild with sensual movements.

By Laura Fuhrman on Unsplash

I hugged myself and laughed when I wrapped my arms around my shoulders, and imagined meeting a handsome stranger. My eyes burned through the mirror with a primitive knowing that I could after all, be the lioness in the city. In this last year, those virile images are a brief remembrance of life as we all knew it.

By jean wimmerlin on Unsplash

My world this last year, had become box-like as you could imagine. I put butcher paper on my one living room window so you can't see into my apartment and I can't peer out. The hole up is is to live like a a hermit.

When the window was open, I watched the performances of all peoplish things that people do. I even had an imaginary conversation with a homeless guy sitting near the window. He yelled nightly at all the passerbys and had an ongoing communication with someone who was supposed to deliver a phone to him. I promised myself that one day, I would give him a flip top phone. I even thanked him for being a neighbor.

At this portentous moment, a call came in at 6 am in the morning. I grabbed for the phone thinking it was work related, and was elated to hear from my heart buddy from Jamaica. Yoruba and I went to film school together in Miami, and I used to spend summers with his family in Montego Bay, where they taught me about the love that a good meal had for us. “Living food, loves a living mind”, they used to say.

By Kevin Sanon on Unsplash

Maybe our connection was the magnet that sucked us back together in this upside down world. Maybe Yoruba knew that I was slowly slipping away, and needed that sparking. I craved his masculine presence, and his tree loving hugs. Whenever I was misguided he always put me back on course. It was his words, and that voice. “Wey Yuh Ah Sey”…. How are you doing, and how is your wuwu?"

“Well Yoruba, my wuwu, has been in a box this last year, and I am done with this crap". Yoruba and I could ask each other about our private parts, and know we were delving into philosophic deep waters.

“Come here, and we will climb a coconut tree, and I will massage your body, cook for you and tell some stories". Yoruba was now a massage therapist, and had a bungalow in Santa Monica. He turned his backyard into a veritable rain forest with herbs, spices, and the fruits of Jamaica. And of course coconut trees. I was the hungry learner, and I couldn’t wait to visit.

By Michal Pechardo on Unsplash

When the two of us good friends saw each other we couldn’t stop hugging. There was no salt on our tongues, and our sweet words were endless. We laughed, danced and cried for this long imprisonment to be over. After studying every inch of me, he knew I was very sad and asked why I had boxed myself in.

By Fabienne FILIPPONE on Unsplash

Without judging and further evaluation he opened a hand painted baby blue paneled door. It almost looked like I was entering the Garden of Eden. Growing right outside the garden door, was lavender, patchouli, goji berries, rosemary, mint thyme, oregano, sweet potato root, banana, papaya, vanilla bean orchid, mangos, gooseberries, sour sap, and the list goes on. As I meandered through the garden and walked across, flagstone, and planks of wood,

By Vero Photoart on Unsplash

I touched some of the plants and buried my head in a holy basil plant to say hello to the humming bees. I could hear them talk back. Yoruba commented that I reminded him of an opening flower. He said I was waking up again after a long sleep. “Outside, in the sunshine, with these plants, flowers, and little creatures is where we all need to be", he said. “Work a little, and then play big”.

By Ernest Brillo on Unsplash

Now it was time for me to climb a coconut tree. I tried to edge my body and squeeze my legs around the trunk and hoist up. It was pretty hard, so Yoruba brought out a ladder. I climbed the ladder and managed to get enough leverage to slowly climb down like I was pole dancing. My fat arse couldn't climb that tree, but my intentions were good.

Two coconuts were waiting for us in the kitchen. Yoruba made the most delicious drink from the water of the baby coconut, some jack fruit, sour sap, mangos, banana, and some apples, of all things. We sipped our drinks and thought about producing a documentary together, as the sun twinkled in his gold flecked eyes. I kissed his forehead with such love and appreciation.

Deep into the massage, Yoruba began to tell me a Jamaican story about a turtle and a scorpion. The scorpion asks the turtle for a ride, and once granted the ride, brother scorpion stings the turtle. Brother turtle asked why the scorpion would sting him when he showed an act of kindness, and the scorpion said that it was his nature. At this point, I was deep into my own story. In my relaxation induced meditation, I began following the turtle to a small island where I explored the world around me, and experienced the pleasures of the natural world. There were no complications of disharmony, just fresh air and knowing that we would all come through this.

By Hanna Postova on Unsplash

When I fell asleep long into the night at Yoruba’s house, he gently woke me up in the morning and offered me a delicious fruit plate and herb tea. I told him that he stirred something up in me and we decided to resume our long loving friendship.

We always had trouble leaving each other, but when I got home a very strange package was delivered to my front door a few days later. It was a homemade box wrapped in brown paper. Crinkly, because underneath coconut husks with flowers were glued to the top. It was as hard to peel open, just like a coconut.

Once the package was opened, rice paper secured a very small gift that I opened very delicately. I picked up the most beautiful hand made mirror I had ever seen, and for the first time in a year, took time to see me. I was fascinated with what I saw and kept staring earnestly for a very long time. I peeled the butcher paper from the windows, and opened up my world to the outside. Thanks to the loving connection to my friend Yoruba and his mysterious ways, I gave up the box.

By Kenzie Kraft on Unsplash

Short Story

About the Creator

Zel Harrison

I travel with a nap sack on my back to gather stories and sit in the circle of humanity.

Enjoyed the story?
Support the Creator.

Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.

Subscribe For FreePledge Your Support

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

    Zel HarrisonWritten by Zel Harrison

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.