Box Precious

         After a long struggle with cancer, diabetes, smoking, drinking, and God knows what else, the old bird finally died. She was tuff as leather, stubborn as an ink stain, and left me a house, an old woman’s collection of, you know, junk, and a pile of medical bills.

         That had always been the way of my family; the elderly died hard. This particular woman had been flat out mean to me, never warm. My brother seemed to be on her good side, but not I. Always with the fashion advice, the way I sat, walked, spoke. I was never really a proper woman to her, and around fifteen I stopped trying. But with all that, I was her last remaining relative, well the only one not in jail. My brother had found a love of things chemical and was now doing a stretch at some federal penitentiary for coke, which left me to take care of things myself.

         I worked long hours in a tobacco shop, ironic seeing how grandma had died, and did not make much money. I had been saving cash for some time to buy a new car. Mine was an inheritance from my parents, and it was ancient. They died drinking and wrecking their good car, so I got the junk car. It was a car for all that, but I needed a new one pretty bad. Now I had to set that aside, and fly to Wyoming and tie this bitter old ladies affairs down, and see what I could do about medical bills.

         I brought Janice with me, more for the company then the help. She was my closest friend, and we had completed high school together. After that we both moved to New York City because that is where it’s all happening. Well, that was what the rumor was anyway. Selling tobacco products to those believing themselves to be living too long was not what I had in mind.

         The house was a field of discarded nick-knacks and the resting place of old newspaper and magazines. There was an old TV, but I doubted it had ever been turned on. She was more like a rat building a nest for her young; or a crow enamored with the bright and shiny crap of the world; now it was all belonged to me.

         Grandma had not worked for some years, and lived off of her social security. Alone, this seemed to fit her fine. Grandpa’s pension gave a little to her as well, but not enough to have stowed cash in the mattress or anything, and the bank account was bursting at its seems with $81.23, a couple of tanks of gas back home. I planned to check the mattress anyway; she seemed to have cash for coke head Rob before he went to jail. Wonder what he will do in a few years when he gets out. Probably come to see me -- Something else to look forward to. At least he was the only one left I would have to plant when they died, and he did not even have a apartment, more or less a house full.

         “Hey! Come check this out!”

         “What Janice? Did you find another piece of costume jewelry?”

         “No, it’s a really old magazine, from the 30’s I think.”

         “Trash…”

         “Are you sure? It could be worth something...”

         “Yeah, I’m sure. Lets get this shit bagged and to the walk. Salvation Army will be here in the morning to get the furniture.”

         “O.K...” Janice drew out.

         Janice seemed to find treasure in just about anything older than her. If I had known she was an amateur archaeologist specializing in trinkets, I would not have brought her. Well, she had filled a bag for every three of mine, so I guess that was something.

         “I’m going to go start in the bedroom.” I said, loathing the idea. The bedroom is where most of the garbage had gravitated, but it had to be done. I grabbed one of the boxes of fifty five gallon lawn and refuse bags and headed in. It was dark, musty, musky, and smelled old. I throw open the curtains, and they promptly fell to the floor. Dust billowed up like some dormant monster awaken from slumber. I coughed a bit and then sneezed, blowing the rest of it away. Light screamed into the room highlighting the piles if garbage I would have to bag.

         I seated myself next to the bed and began dragging the piles of periodicals from under the bed. In short order, I was pretty much underneath news papers of zero relevance and aged well past their one day shelf life, sometimes by decades.

         “Hey Karen, What’s this?” Janice asked thrusting an old wooden box at me. I took the box and examined it closely. I was old, very old, and made of carved wood. There was a depiction of a forest and a tall buck standing proudly before a row of trees. There were small brass corners also carved, and a delicate lock on the front, one which was apparently engaged.

         “I remember this from a long time ago. It is my grandmother’s ‘box precious’ she used to call it.”

         “What’s in it?”

         “I don’t know. I tried to look once, and she nearly took my head off. She said that she kept the things most valuable to her in it for safekeeping.”

         “Cant be too much in there, huh?” Janice asked considering its small size.

         “No.” I said while I shook it. “There is something in there though.”

         “Should I leave it for the Salvation Army or toss it?”

         I don’t know why, and can’t say today, but I had to know what was in there. “No, I’ll keep this one. Maybe there is something important inside. Put it next to the door so we don't forget to take it.” I said and handed the box back to her.

         “You got it. Living room, dinning room, foyer, and most of the kitchen are done. Want to call it a night or finish here?”

         “Let’s knock this room out quick, and go get a beer.” I said, “The bed can go with the Salvation Army in the morning.”

         Janice got to work with me, and in a few hours we had the room bagged. We decided to ask the Salvation Army guys if they would carry these bags out for the trash in the morning, and left.

         As I walked through the front door, a picked the box up with little thought, and tossed it into the back seat of my car. We went down to a dirty little dive more for rednecks then New Yorkers, and grabbed a beer, a burger, and more phone numbers then we wanted.

         The next morning, the guys did help take the trash out. They were very sympathetic to my loss, and they were so genuine about it, I did not let on that I didn’t really feel much either way. They helped carry other things from the attic, and on that our third day, we had emptied the house.

         I dutifully locked the doors, and dropped the keys off at the realtor's office. She had promised to send in a cleaning crew and put the old house on the market immediately. Unfortunately, the housing market in Wyoming was less then booming, so I decided I would probably not hear from her for some time, if ever. I was most likely going to have to eat the medical bills; so much for my new car.

         Our flight did not leave for another five hours but I did not want to spring for another day in the hotel room for what would be three hours.

         On our way to find a seat for the next five hours, Janice suddenly piped up, “Hey! Let’s take that box to that antique store and see if they can open it.” She was not happy about sitting in the airport for five hours. She pointed to and watched a small antiques shop pass by the car.

         Actually, I had forgotten about the box, but agreed. I found a place to make a U-turn. The little shop had some parking in the rear, and a screened door in back to allow those parking there to enter.

         There was all manor of old furniture and fixture, statue and painting all about the shop in some secret design known only by the shop keeper, who was so old he actually looked like one of the wares for sale. He was standing behind the glass counter filled with watches wearing a warm face. He greeted us politely, and asked what we were looking for, maybe he could help.

         “I have this box here, and I was wondering if you know how to open it? Maybe have an old skeleton key somewhere?”

         “Let me take a look-see young Miss.” he said as his wrinkled fingers took the thing like some ancient treasure. “This is a wonderful piece. Are you interested in selling it?”

         “Sure. I was more interested in what’s in it though.” I replied.

         The old man gazed at me over his spectacles, “Do you know what this is?”

         “No, it was my grandma’s.”

         “It’s a hope box. miss. This is where you put something of great value, like a jewelry box or safe deposit boxes they got down at the Federal Trust. You don't see these very often. Whatever is in here must have been important to your grandmother.”

         “Really?” I asked, attempting to sound interested, but sure I failed. “Can you open it?”

         “Oh sure, see here...” He turned the box over and pointed to a miniature pine cone carved into the wood scene. “Just give that a push, and just about anything will work as a key. They were not very sophisticated back when this was made.” He handed the box back to me and began rummaging through a small tray near the register. He pulled out a paper clip about as old as he was and smiled at me. “This will do.” he said as he began to bend the thing into a key.

         “What do you think's in it?” Janice asked excitedly.

         “I don't know. I'm hoping a life insurance policy.” I said.

         The old man raised one eyebrow at me as he inserted his make shift key and I pushed the pine cone. He twisted the paper clip and there was a tiny click. The man leaned back. “There ya are!”

         I turned the box around and gently lifted the lid.

         “Is it jewelry?” Janice asked, leering over my shoulder.

         Inside was a single photograph, yellowed with age and curling on the sides. In the center of the photo was a little girl on an old tricycle. She wore a little yellow sun dress, a smile missing two bottom teeth, and a little mother-of-pearl comb, which to this day sits in a jewelry box in my apartment.

         “That’s it, huh, Just a picture?”

         “It’s me, Janice”

         “It’s a picture of you? Ah, your adorable!”

         After everything, the life I had being raised by this bitter old woman, after all the hateful corrections to my posture, clothing, makeup, boy choices, school grades, everything, I was the most precious thing she had. The thing she kept most safe. I fought back a sob as Janice placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

         “You know, young lady, I could give you about fifteen thousand for the box. But to be honest, it would go a bit higher at auction, even without the key.”

         I looked at the gentle old man through a haze of unshed tears. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s not for sale.”