She always thought of him like a music box, waiting to be opened. Full of treasure and music, if only she could figure out how to crack him open in just the right places.
Returning to his house, suddenly the house of an old and sick and dying man, it seemed literally full of boxes. Mostly cardboard, mostly things half packed, as if he had been trying to organize or empty out his life but had been felled by his illness.
She found the tiny velvet box for the ring just behind their record. She had been tempted to pick up their record, Handsnaps and Fingerclaps. All the joy that was contained in its tiny vinyl grooves. And there it was, blue and tiny and hidden from everyone.
Would it have made a difference to them? To their lives now? In many ways, she was glad he never asked her, and almost wished he had bought it for someone else. Or that maybe he had a few on hand, over the years. Expensive gifts to cash in on, or not.
She found it and was surprised to hear him specifically ask her to go get it. There's something behind our record, he'd said.
She brought it to his hospital bed in the dining room without opening it. Light enough for it to be a thin band of gold, even without a stone. He started on a long, rambling speech. She stopped him when she realized.
"it's empty," she said, simply. That surprised him, but not her. It was symbolic of everything he had promised her and had left out.
She suddenly felt tired and told him she was going to make up a bed for herself upstairs.
She kissed him on the forehead before heading up. No regrets. Everything was as it should be.
Returning to his house, suddenly the house of an old and sick and dying man, it seemed literally full of boxes. Mostly cardboard, mostly things half packed, as if he had been trying to organize or empty out his life but had been felled by his illness.
She found the tiny velvet box for the ring just behind their record. She had been tempted to pick up their record, Handsnaps and Fingerclaps. All the joy that was contained in its tiny vinyl grooves. And there it was, blue and tiny and hidden from everyone.
Would it have made a difference to them? To their lives now? In many ways, she was glad he never asked her, and almost wished he had bought it for someone else. Or that maybe he had a few on hand, over the years. Expensive gifts to cash in on, or not.
She found it and was surprised to hear him specifically ask her to go get it. There's something behind our record, he'd said.
She brought it to his hospital bed in the dining room without opening it. Light enough for it to be a thin band of gold, even without a stone. He started on a long, rambling speech. She stopped him when she realized.
"it's empty," she said, simply. That surprised him, but not her. It was symbolic of everything he had promised her and had left out.
She suddenly felt tired and told him she was going to make up a bed for herself upstairs.
She kissed him on the forehead before heading up. No regrets. Everything was as it should be.
