New Traditions

There must be music and laughter around, but she cannot hear it. There must be lights and joyful faces, but she cannot see them. The world around her rests beyond her view as all her focus resides within two small metal spoons. The gentle ting they make as she brings them together, tapping them over and over again, is louder for her than any part of celebrations taking place around her. The dull shine of their form stands within the spotlight of her focus, as the memories of past years flood her vision.

New Years, for her, had always been a time for family. While her friends had moved on to celebrations more friendly than familial, her heart had always been set on ringing in this change with those who had raised her, and those she had helped raise. Tonight, however, she faced her first year apart from them, and not by choice. With each ting of those spoons, she thought of the many times the whole family had run screaming down the street, bashing together the pots and pans, which were sure to be severely dented by morning.

“Happy New Year!” they would cry; exhilaration the leading mood.

Some years this would be much to the dismay of the neighbours, but occasionally those in the surrounding houses would rise to the occasion and join them in their plight.

As the minutes tick on, creeping ever closer to midnight, she knows that above all else, she does not want to ring the new year in here. Knowingly, her partner reaches down a hand to help her to her feet and after a brief round of farewells, they head off home. The drive is quick with no cars about this close to countdown, and as they pull up in the driveway, she feels the weight of loss hamper her movement with each solemn step towards the house.

Moving inside, through the darkened interior, she misses it. Even when the light reveals all within this simple space, she misses it. A tiny package, wrapped in brown paper, sitting quite conspicuously upon the empty table in her dining room should immediately draw her attention, but it doesn’t. Not at first.

She sets down her bags and her phone as her partner moves by taking the same welcome home steps. It isn’t until she feels his eyes upon her that she notices something is not quite as it should be. Finally forced to examine her surroundings more critically she is taken aback, just a little, by that strange wrapped box.

Slowly she approaches the table and takes the time to lift the brown wrapping gently at each edge, careful not to tear it, ever an admirer of beautifully simple things. Her heart skips with a fleeting, unexpected joy as she sees within the wrapping another box; a box she knows well. They had called it her magic box in the earlier days of their relationship. It often appeared unexpectedly, and within it would sit surprises, from massage bars, to photographs, to candles; little things to let her know she was loved. If ever she had needed a small surprise to lighten the mood it was now.

She smiled as she lifted the lid and stared for a moment in confusion at the delicate ring inside. The breath caught in her chest as she tried to quickly calm herself. It could after all just be a ring. Not all rings mean something.

Turning around to check she sees him there, on one knee, smiling up at her. Without a word she tackles him to the ground, swept up in a wave of overpowering emotion. After the giggles, the hugs, the kisses, she realises she hadn’t actually said yes, so she pulls them both up and makes it official.

It is then, a new kind of excitement takes hold. They take off into the night and as the clock strikes twelve they arrive to the cheers of the love and support of their friends.

It’s time for a new tradition.