Life Cycle of a Box
2008
I started out as a fresh brand new piece of cardboard. My packer bought lots of boxes, so I didn’t think I was anything special yet. I was smaller, he took more time to fill me than the others, and it seemed like he had a different plan for my future.
He packed me with a seven-year collection of letters, photos, and objects. I learned more about him with each item he added. I started feeling emotions as all this stuff populated inside me. He fed me with so many words, and frozen moments in time that I started feeling hungry for more.
I was heavy now with the weight of words like
“It’s going to be a great life.”
“I don’t feel married.”
“I don’t know much longer I can go on like this.”
I digested dozens of images showing people in beautiful places all over the world, and held objects that seemed to have meaning to these people.
I was thoughtfully stamped and shipped from Calgary to Texas. My contents were personal, no one suspected a thing or even considered to open me. I liked it that no one thought I was anything special, yet.
When I arrived, she sat me on her desk for weeks which made me feel anxious, but I aquieiced, I was home.
Finally, she started to cut me open. I had been in the dark for so long it was hard to see the silhouette of her face behind all the light streaming in. Her face was pretty but she looked sad and soulful. I felt her pain and anguish as she saw the memories of her past unfold, so I understood why she had to quickly tape me up and put me away.
She gave me a name and wrote “Marriage Box” on me. Now I had feelings, a purpose, and a name. This was awesome, I was just a box. I never knew I could have this much potential.
I was contained again, but this time, I was brutally shuffled in and out of her houses. She rarely touched me, it was dark, I was lonely, and I wanted her attention. I was put away and ignored during the prime of my life. I adhered, but felt like I was in purgatory.
2024
She opened me again. I was tired, beat up and smelled like weed, but ready to fulfill my purpose. I felt her again as she bravely and painstakingly processed each letter, photograph, and object inside of me. She threw most of my contents away, and I felt lighter, relieved, and strangely at peace.
She kept my shipping label, downsized me to a cigar box, and threw me away. I was ok with that, I was old for a box, my work was done, and I was ready for her to let me go.
Thanks for reading! If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read, remember to follow the publication (and clap/comment too!). Want to write for Penny Press? Please check out our submission guidelines and ask to be added as a writer in the comments of that post
