Paper Mache and Memories
Not Just Any Old Box
As the decorative box tipped over and fell from the very top shelf; brightly colored cards, glittery things and cutout hearts, fell with it, along with old, stained white and pink envelopes and a paper Mache vase.
Faded tissue paper flowers, which had once belonged within the vase, swirled, as if in slow motion, landing softly atop a spectacularly colorful display of memories!
The spectacular display, triggered spectacular memories...and they began to flow.
First, memories of candy hearts with happy words and positive messages.
Once upon a time, she would devour those sugary little treats, as if they were going to sprout wings and fly away, until the day she realized they included happy words and positive messages. After that, they were always read.....just before they were consumed!
All of those last minute trips with Mom or Dad, to buy Valentine's Day cards, after it was no longer cool to make them at home.
Staying up late, to sign every one, making sure to remember every single person, no one could be left out!
Crazy, the amount of cards handed out and received throughout those elementary years, she couldn't even venture a guess.
Did any one of the boys she liked, ever pick out a special card, that was meant for her and for her alone?
Doubtful, it was more likely, whatever their Moms randomly stuck into the various envelopes, with the various names.
She then remembered her first crush, first boyfriend, first date, first kiss and that one crazy Summer of juggling four young men, three of them via letters, because she didn't want to hurt the feelings of any one of them, especially the one in the Military!
The simple Act of a single rose, handed out to each and every Lady at church. Valentine's Day made special once again for many lovely ladies, otherwise completely forgotten on the Day of Love.
- A dance; her bare feet upon Dad's socks
- An unexpected gift, the most meaningful gift
- Mom singing 'You are my Special Angel' to her
- Cards which came through the mail
- Chocolate covered strawberries
She thought about that cute little boy with freckles on his nose, he was in her third grade class and was a twin. Apparently his sister had received the entire gift of gab, because 'Freckles' never said a word, (other than "here" or "present") he had still managed to distract her a time or two.
What became of her sixth grade boyfriend, he had actually given her a gold ring, (supposedly his Mom knew all about it, but she had always wondered about that) has he had a good life? Is he still with us here on earth?
The Science Teacher, with the dimples. She melted each time he would call her by her initials...
Whoa Whoa Whoa! That was just a teenager crushing on her Teacher, for an entire year, nothing to do with Valentine's Day, this reminiscing business was getting way off track.
She picks up each item and meticulously places them back into the box and then looks up, contemplating whether the box belongs back on the same shelf or somewhere else.
What else is up on that shelf...she decides to check later.
Back to her wonderful Reality!
All settled down with the man of her dreams and with a family of her own.
Somewhere there is another box, from when her kids were very young.
She remembers more than one polaroid picture of her son, from his pre-school days, they were always set upon a pink heart and she remembers many wonderful handcrafted items, created by her daughter. They always involved a lot of glitter, hearts upon hearts and multiple I Love You's.
Where could that box be...
Her kids are growing up so fast and her daughter is wondering if she will be receiving a special Valentine from a certain someone, while her son wants her to just randomly stuff the envelopes for him and get it over with!
Her daughter is beginning to think of her as being out of touch and incapable of understanding anything about being young and the drama of it all, she lovingly assures her how very wrong she is about that, as she takes over stuffing cards into envelopes for her son, who has now wandered off.....
- AB Williams
© 2018 A B Williams