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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1813961-Boxes
Rated: E · Short Story · Contest Entry · #1813961
Entry for the "The Writer's Cramp" competition - 28/29 September 2011
"Hello Bob, please do come in." She fought the urge to kiss him and stepped back.

Bob replied, "Hello Josie, how are you?"

She studied the familiar lines and wrinkles on his face. She discovered a new expression on it, which was different, indifferent and cold. "I am doing fine. As you can see I have been busy", returned Josie.

Bob looked around and said, "Yes, I see boxes, many boxes! Which ones are mine?"

"The boxes over there in the corner are yours.", replied Josie and tilted her head slightly towards them. She tried to produce a smile.

"Thank you. I won't be long. I left the boot open.", mumbled Bob and grabbed one of the boxes. He looked at her and it seemed that he was slightly uncomfortable. Bob looked down at the floor and then left the room swiftly, clutching his box. And so Bob came in and went out again, seven times, to fetch his boxes.

"When is your flight?", asked Bob.

"Wednesday, at eight AM but the movers come on Tuesday!", replied Josie. She managed to keep one tear unnoticeable, hiding it behind a fake smile.

He noticed nevertheless. "Well, this is it then! Goodbye Josie." Bob extended his right hand towards her.

She was to weak to take it and replied softly: "Goodbye Bob, take care." The last two words were only a whisper, too soft to reach him as he walked out of her life.

Josie switched the light on. Bob's visit was 2 hours ago and still there she was weeping and sniffing. Why do I cry? Is it because he has left? Is it because I mourn about the life I had with him? Is it the thought of being alone that brings these tears? She looked at herself in the mirror. Teary, red eyes stared back at her. She was alone, alone for good. How can I ever trust anyone again? Who will ever be convincing enough? Josie left the bathroom. Her right foot bumped against a box that was not sealed with tape yet, its lid sprung open. Ah, the records collection! She sat down next to the box and browsed through the colorful envelopes and sleeves that contained vinyl 33s and 45s. Her browsing stopped and she took one of the old records out of the box. She studied it and remembered its tune. She started to hum and later remembered a few words, "The day falls asleep at night and awakes to be the new morning." She put the record back into the box and sealed the lid solidly.

Tuesday arrived and with it came the movers. The moving team consisted of three foreign looking men, clothed in gray work suits. Unshaven, showered?, rough!, decided Josie and let them go about their business. The team worked efficiently without showing respect to the boxes, its contents, or their owner. No smile, no token of needed sympathy came Josie's way. The house was fully packed up after 4 hours.

"When will you arrive in New York?", asked Josie.

"Four days from now.", replied the driver. His index finger and the thumb of his right hand grabbed the front of his blue cap swiftly. He nodded, said, "Ma'am." and drove of.

Wednesday early morning came as a relief. Finally, it is my turn to leave. She walked slowly through every room, making sure that nothing would be left behind. The rooms were all empty as was her ability to feel. She was left drained and cold. Sitting on the floor next to the entrance she studied her watch and waited. The taxi arrived before seven. The driver hooted twice. Josie walked out of the house taking one large brown suit-case with her. She was barely able to get it down the steps. I should have let the movers take it! The taxi driver helped her to load it into the boot and opened the right back door for her. She fell into the seat and closed her eyes. It felt good to be so close to the conclusion ... Goodbye! She took one last, long look at the house. This better be a happy place for somebody else! There was the trace of a smile on her face when she whispered, "Please drive, you can drive now, please!"
© Copyright 2011 Appi (Michael) (mappelt at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1813961-Boxes