Unboxed

It sat where it had every morning since it arrived, restlessly in a sunbeam. Longing for the tape to be removed, for its doors to be swung open wide. I sat in an eternal stare down from my chair, refusing its internal desire to be opened. Boxes had always held this power. The anticipation of opening it was more satisfying than what lie within. But this was different. It had arrived in the night with no note. No description. It felt….different.. this box. Like it was screaming to be opened. Yet I could not bring myself to do it. I felt a sense of duty to leave it closed. So I sat. I stared. I waited.

Tick.

Lunch time came and went. Still I longed to open that box and reveal the mysteries that lie within. The possibilities endless. The opportunity dwindling. The phone rang, jolting me from my fantasy abruptly. As I answered it brought a unwelcome distraction from the focus of my mind.

The voice on the other end of the line droned on. Over and over they repeated line after line and over and over I responded. Inattentively, undesirably, inconsiderate. The click of the receiver on the other end was the only reminder that the call ended. I returned to my seat, facing the welcome yet unwelcome visitor in my home.

Tock.

The neighborhood was blustery, icy, and snow covered. Winter had arrived. As I walked past a local school, I could see the snow billowing off of the roof, quickly receding into the mounds of grounded snow. A dog yapped in a monotonous tone, constant, being harassed by the squirrel that lived in an old oak tree. I watched this pair for a moment, realizing how futile the dogs struggle was, as the squirrel would never come down. It wouldn’t leave the safety of its home. Its box. That box. It is still there. In my mind as in my home. Each step I took only reminded me of the distance between us. I would not be able to resist this forbidden fruit for long. It was my squirrel. No. It mustn’t be my squirrel, it must be my dog. At a distance it is an acquaintance but up close a danger.

Tick.

As I turned on to my street I could see my neighbor, shoveling off their sidewalk, clearing a path for themselves to pick up packages, news papers. Boxes. The box. The box. It was there.

hey hows it going? can you believe this weather? it is getting awfully cold out here but at least the suns out. I managed some feeble response, likely commenting on the fact that this winter is going to be a cold one, lamenting the frozen waste that we called home. But something else called me home. Something frozen in time, acquiring dust. It had been there for so long that I forget when it arrived on my doorstep.

Tock.

As I walked through the door I could hear the leaky faucet in my kitchen. Something had led to me forgetting this was a problem, the dripping faded in my mind. Someone may move that box. It had its place and so do I. The rest of my day was an eternal battle with temptation. As my head hit my pillow that night, all I could hope for was that I could find some solace in sleep.

Tick.

I woke up in the middle of the night, and felt my lips peel apart. I needed a drink of water. But for that, I had to pass by the box. Its eerie outline cursed my hallways, my kitchen, the place I lived! I longed for it to be gone from my life yet it felt permanent. I dashed down the hall, retrieved the object of my quest. I could feel the icy stare of the box.

Tock.

I laid awake for what felt like days. I watched the fan spin slowly overhead. It creaked as it counted down its rotations for the rest of its life. Slowly approaching the ending of a rotation and a place to come to a rest. I felt its cold, dying breaths on my face.

Tick.

Now the clock in the hallway even reminds me of it. It incessant counting, chiming, ticking! Tocking! Its constant mockery of me driving me back to that box. It was calling me back.

Tick.

Now.

Tock.

The box is leading me back.

Tick.

I can feel the life inside of this box. Its calling. Its craving.

Tock.

No longer shall it be sealed. It is time, It is time! I knew I had found it. My calling.

Tick.

I sliced the seal, my letter opener an arcane dagger slicing through its sacrifice.

Tock.

It flowed through me as I placed my fingers on the edges. The box was finally here. In my grasp.

Tick.

We are free.

Tock.