The box

Months ago, the box was a gift to the young man. Late one night, three movers delivered it along with some slightly more useful items, such as a television, two very good speakers and a larger bed. The gifts had come from a friend of his father, who was moving and no longer needed them. The young man was thankful to have received the items.

He liked the box; it was classy. It had doors on two sides, wheels and polished wooden trim. Though he was unsure exactly what to do with it, he knew he would think of something. The young man was clever like that.

The problem was, with the larger bed and the new box, his room was cramped. It annoyed him to have to awkwardly maneuver his way between the bed and the box to his bookshelf so he decided to rest the book he was reading on top of the box, thus not having to step around it the next time he wanted to read.

The box sat, empty, beneath a growing pile of books and papers for weeks. The young man was busy and he realized that even if he did figure out what to do with the box, it was just too big for his room. Maybe he should just give it away.

But it was probably valuable, he thought. He didn’t know for sure but it looked expensive. What if he gave it away only to find out that he could have sold it for a lot of money? It was worth looking into, he decided late one night, gazing at the oversized box through a sleepy eye. He would sell it and he was excited because he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore and he could use the extra money. He had figured it out, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep, for he was clever like that.

A week later it still sat, untouched. The young man wondered how one went around selling something like this on eBay, and thought maybe craigslist would be better. He would have to take a picture of it and carry it down the stairs. He sighed. It had been very hard to carry up the stairs for it was heavy. At least, it would be easier on the way down, he thought. He’d get to all of that tomorrow.

A few weeks later, he found out that he was moving and had to spend all of his free time searching for a new apartment. Maybe he could find someone to sell the box for him. He supposed that he would have to split the money with them if they did all of the work. But at least it would get done.

The young man sat down on his bed and looked at the large pile on top of the troublesome box. After awhile, he realized that he should have been putting the books inside the box rather than on top of it, but it was too late and there were too many. All of a sudden, it seemed very foolish to keep the box empty, especially with a still growing pile on top of it.

The next day, he found an apartment. There was a finished basement where he would set up his office. He now had more room. Maybe, he would keep the box after all.

As he packed up his room, he glanced frequently at the box with a “do I have a plan for you” sort of look. The box could tell, and it was excited. He was sure of it.

He moved the box with his roommate in the rain. It was as hard as he thought it would be. Once they got it down the stairs, he rolled it into the van. They went to his new apartment a few blocks away and unloaded many boxes. The empty box rolled smoothly into the basement and fit snuggly in the corner. He was happy to have kept it, excited to finally have the guts to put stuff inside it.

The excitement didn’t last long for when he added his desk, his computer, his bookshelf, a table and a couch to the room, the box didn’t fit so neatly anymore. He had filled it up with hard drives and a sea of cables but it stuck out from under his desk and he bumped his knee on it when he sat at his computer.

The third time he bumped his knee, he decided he had had enough. It was the last straw and he emptied the box angrily and carried it up the stairs and out to the street. It looked lonely, he thought, as he turned his back on it, unsure as to whether he was making the right decision.

The next day it was gone. The young man knew that whoever had taken the box must have a good plan for it. They were, he was sure, clever like that.

- Zachary Stuart-Pontier