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Winter Box of Memory
By Helene KwongWritten on 12-14-08I noticed the young woman sitting by the store window, holding the white wrapped boxwith red ribbon. She looked like she was contemplating the package, which was simply an oddnotion to me since the store was full of the same packages like the one she held. It was a brandnew store on the block, white and spotless like all the other new stores in the shopping area. Itwas called “Kitty’s Corner” and really did not interest me had it not been for the solitary lookingwoman sitting there.“What are you doing?” I asked her when I entered the store.She looked up from her daydreaming state and then realized what she was doing.“Oh, I am so terribly sorry!”She stood and smoothed her hair back while I continued to stare at her.“Here, this is for you!” she said.She held the white box out to me and waited for my hands to take the box from her. Whatthe heck? I was not even sure what she was implying with such a gesture, considering thatnothing in the store appeared to be for the likes of me, an old man. I hesitated to take the boxfrom her, since it looked too pristine to be touched by my old hands, but she looked intent ongiving me this so-called gift, or box, what have you.“For me, really?” I said. I looked down at my withered hands and took the box from her gently. “What’s inside?” I proceeded to ask as I shook the box lightly. I felt suspicious; we werecomplete strangers, yet she somehow seemed to read the sadness that was etched upon my face.She smiled in her crisp white shirt and then patted me on my worn head. “Yes, for you,my dear kind sir!” She went behind the counter to write a small note on the store’s business card.
© 2008 Helene Kwong. All rights reserved. Reproduction, redistribution, or any other form of unauthorized methods without theauthor’s consent are strictly prohibited. For more works by the author, please visithttp://www.helenekwong.com/
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“Just take the box home, open it up, and enjoy what’s inside. You will be happy, I can assureyou!” She smiled even wider, which made me feel more uncomfortable. I did not like her condescending tone either, but I humored her a little anyway. “Why, thank you, kind younglady,” I said.I bowed slightly, put my hat back on, and then walked slowly towards the exit of thestore. The box was incredibly light, and I was beginning to feel like maybe I was being duped bycarrying home an empty white box.
Sigh, it’s always like this every year since then, isn’t it?
I saidto myself as I waited outside for a cab.
 How many years has it been since I was last given a gift?
It has been too long, no doubt;after all, I never had children to dote upon and I only married once. I first met Mildred when Iattended a ballet performance of hers sixty odd years ago. It was around the holidays, andalthough I was not interested in ballet, my accounting colleagues dragged me along to the performance as a sort of “pick-me-up” from the dreaded loneliness of a bachelor’s holiday. WhenMildred stepped out onto the stage, I felt her soul pass through my body, and immediately wewere entangled in our destiny. We were introduced to each other after the show, and from that point forward, I felt alive.Mildred was indeed my one true love, and when she passed away suddenly twenty yearsago, I was incredibly heartbroken. After her death, I chose to live by myself: I moved from our large and spacious suburban house into a more urban area for singles to live comfortably on a budget. The new place was a true bargain, so I didn’t mind the location or the commotion thatmy neighbor occasionally made upstairs. It was a good enough place for a widowed man like meto settle down in my retirement years.
© 2008 Helene Kwong. All rights reserved. Reproduction, redistribution, or any other form of unauthorized methods without theauthor’s consent are strictly prohibited. For more works by the author, please visithttp://www.helenekwong.com/
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Anyway, that was just a tangent there. When Mildred was alive, we would give eachother gifts like there was no tomorrow. They were never extravagant gifts either; just small giftswe thought we would like for each other. They were the best things that never failed to lift myspirits; there was one time when I had a bad day at work, and I felt like I was going to crack bythe end of the day. When I arrived home, I found a small package sitting on my pillow in our  bedroom, with a small charm and a note from Mildred:
Cheer up, my love—the day may be spent, but tomorrow’s another day still.
Mildred always knew what to buy and what to say tocheer me up. The gifts did not even have to be material things either; they were sometimes,actually often times, gifts that were symbolic, or intangible, but written on a piece of paper as atype of reminder for us.But really, Mildred was the only one who ever cared to give me any gifts that weremeaningful throughout my whole life. Others, including even my own family, they never reallygave me anything that meant much. We were never really close and only gathered duringholidays since it seemed to be a mandatory duty to do so. Therefore, I spent most of my earlyyears doling out presents as just a form of obligation; there were no emotional values attached toany of the presents I gave to the ones whom I was supposed to cherish the most. Mildred’skindness and her thoughtful, simple gifts made me believe in gift giving again, but only with her. Now I’m sitting here in this little cab, wondering about the significance of the box that isin my lap. Again, I realize how odd it is that the young woman didn’t even ask for my name and just assumed I would like this gift, whatever it is. The décor of the place still rang loudly in mymind as a place for young people, not for someone like me. What good will it do for me to ownsomething that young, hip people covet these days? I see my apartment complex in the distance,and I stop the driver at the corner to hop out.
© 2008 Helene Kwong. All rights reserved. Reproduction, redistribution, or any other form of unauthorized methods without theauthor’s consent are strictly prohibited. For more works by the author, please visithttp://www.helenekwong.com/
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Randi Deen

I enjoyed it, however, I would love some more back story. I was just getting into it, then it was over A good story though.

reply11 / 22 / 2009
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