The Box

Julien took the usual walk home from the city bus stop. His route was straightforward—a left turn on Clancy Street, then a right on Murray Ave. Two blocks later, he would be home. It was dusk. The sun was fading fast into the city skyline of Brooklyn, New York. Julien’s black pants and black t-shirt were dusted with flour from frying fish all day at the Lake Trout shop where he worked as a short-order cook. Julien wished for a different life. A better Life. He always dreamed of being in a different reality. A reality that didn’t contain fish, grease, and grime. He wanted a better way to live. He didn’t know what that meant or how to manifest it, but the burning desire flamed his motivation to carry on. He was 21 years old, with no prospects of a different future. He graduated from high school but didn’t aspire for any more education yet; he did have a wish. Perhaps not what most wished, but he used his imagination, often a way to escape the harsher realities of his existence.

Turning down Murray Ave., Julien bopped to the music blaring in his wireless earbuds. His head hung low to the ground as if sniffing a trail. He was always pretty low-key. He didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention. Where he was from, attention meant trouble. As he was walking home, his squinting eyes spotted something a few yards away. Curious, Julien bent down to pick up the square cardboard box wrapped in brown paper. Taped shut, the alluring box had something inside. Julien paused for a moment, alarmed this could be bad news. A bomb? Naw, he thought as he shook the box. A rattling sound like a deck of cards shuffling echoed back just along the boxes’ perimeter. Julien decided in an instant; he would walk away with it.

Just a few feet from the tenement housing project he called home, Julien entered the doors and ran upstairs to door 3C. He went straight to his room, which he shared with his younger brother. It was small and stuffy. One small window framed the room, which was often his escape to another world. Julien would often look outside and imagine he was somewhere else. As he walked by to his room, he saw his mother watching TV in her room; the door cracked slightly.

Julien looked around for something to pierce the box open. He remembered his pocket knife and reached into his jean pocket. Two long slices did the trick. He tore the lid open, and his eyes lit up. “What the fuck?” Bound by rubber bands, stacks of Benjamin Franklins graced his presence. One hundred per band, it seemed, and ten stacks deep. “holy shit!” he exclaimed. He panicked. He freaked out. Was it drug money? He wondered. “shit.” Julien considered who would be looking for him now, but he smiled hard when he realized no one would know. No one saw him pick up the box. No one would ever find out. He thought about it and started to dream of ways to spend it — with all cash access.

He thought of buying new clothes, jewelry, nights out partying, but Julien knew he wanted more than a quick fix. He thought the box might be his escape route. He took out a pad that he used to scribble hip-hop lyrics and began to write out his options.

Move to Atlanta

Go back to school

Learn a new trade

Buy a car

In his mind, Julien devised a plan. He was ecstatic to begin his new life. Tomorrow would be the day off to figure some things out, start to execute his strategy. He spent the rest of the evening imagining how his life could be different. The night was long as he tossed and turned himself to sleep, dreaming of a brighter day.

Gathered not even four blocks away were a small group of gang members strategizing on finding the box of Benjamins that vanished from their spot.

LNora