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Unexpected Gifts

Given Beneath the Wings of Angels

By TestPublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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Photograph by CactusChris

The sun had not yet rose above the distant, mountain top, but its rays created several shades of pink over sections of the rain clouds, and cast a soft, yellow glow across what could be seen of the sky as Kendra stepped out onto the porch of the house she lived in with her husband. She pulled the hood of her hoodie over her shoulder-length, black hair to block out the cool, moist air, which she deeply inhaled for the musky scent of dirt and creosote. A chance she rarely received in the Sonoran Desert. Raising a chipped, coffee mug, cradled between her palms, to her lips, she took a sip, before walking to the small, cyan, metal table with two matching chairs. She sat there for an hour, like she did every morning, drinking coffee and wishing to be more productive with her time. Every morning since she'd been laid off from an accounting position because of downsizing.

Accounting had never been a dream of hers before college. Consequently, she had decided to turn her loss into the opportunity to figure out what she wanted to do. Yet, after two months, she was beginning to think less optimistically. If it had been any other day, she would have gone for a walk, but a light rain put a wrinkle in her routine. As a result, she opted to open the medium box that arrived in the mail, from her mother, yesterday. She hadn't immediately opened it because the last time she'd talked with her mother, she was blamed for her lack of success.

She set the box on the coffee table, and could neither imagine what was inside nor know why her mother had sent it. Hoping for answers, she peeled the tape off and opened the flaps. A note, on off-white paper, lay on top of a dark, wood chest. Sprawled in blue ink across the page was a message relaying that her grandmother had passed away, and the contents of the package were from her. The wood chest was an unembellished rectangle. She traced a finger across the smooth, matte lid, yearning to have known her grandmother. Her father had abandoned them when she was two years old, and her grandparents had always been traveling. She opened the hinged lid and caught the fragrance of roses.

The interior was lined with purple velvet, and a black pen with her grandmother's initials, R.H., engraved in gold was sitting in a tray. After removing the tray, her gaze fell upon a small, black notebook without any markings or title. She picked up the notebook, and opened the front cover. White emptiness stared back. While fanning through the blank, lined pages, a lottery ticket fell out, and she checked online for the winning numbers. Her eyes widened and a hand moved to her heart when she realized all but one number matched, which would increase her bank account by twenty-thousand dollars. Yet, as she turned her attention back to the notebook and pen, it occurred to her that her grandmother had given something more valuable -- family connection.

She picked up the pen, wanting to write in the notebook, but her mind froze. Not being able to remember writing anything beyond business emails, she opened the notebook to the first page and wrote the date in the upper, left corner before pausing. However, her mind didn't freeze this time. Instead, she remembered having a diary, for a brief time, during high school, and began to write about it. She discovered that once she started, the words flowed more easily. She had never considered herself artistic. Yet, when looking around the living room, she realized there were a few paintings hanging on the walls, and a couple animal sculptures by a local artist. Thinking about her diary memory and how it motivated her to write, she began to see that the art pieces were more than decorations.

Questioning whether there were stories in the artworks displayed, she focused on a vibrant green and blue fox sculpture. All she remembered was that she had purchased it from the gift shop at the Desert Museum. Unable to recall the artist's name, she did an online search and was fascinated to discover that there was not only a book on creativity written by her but also a story behind each piece of art she created. Like the flash of a shooting star before it disappeared into the night, she knew what she wanted to do with the twenty-thousand dollars. She was going to open a public, creative space for aspiring artists. The idea gave her both the opportunity to cultivate her own artistic talents and encourage others to do the same.

The following morning, the notebook and pen accompanied her at the table on the porch. The grey, storm clouds prevented any glimpse of blue sky, and they stretched as far as could be seen in every direction. She sipped her usual vanilla, flavored coffee, and journaled about the unexpected gifts from the day before. She, also, jotted down her thoughts and ideas connected to the creative space she was planning to open. When the wind picked up, she gathered her belongings together and headed for the front door. The weather didn't stop the spring in her steps, and she felt like she had when exchanging marriage vows, while an orange and magenta sunset blazed in the background.

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