The Red Shoe Box
I am VERY proud to present an original short story from a dear friend of mine — Jo Miller. This is a great story and I am thankful to you Jo for submitting it.
She places the red shoe box on the table. Its lid has been squashed long ago, so it sits, flattened, on top of the box, like a pancake. The box itself has also seen better days and is more of a faded pink now. She takes a deep breath and raggedly lets it out as she opens the box that contains long forgotten memories of the past 25 years of her life.
As she peers inside, she sees the familiar photos, cards, letters, notes and other “important at the time” memories she once thought were worth keeping. Reaching in, she withdraws a small card that was once attached to a single red rose, wishing her a happy three month anniversary. She was 16 at the time. Three months had seemed like such an achievement!
Laying the card on the table she reaches into the box again, this time unearthing a bundle of tiny scraps of paper, kept together in a battered, blue envelope. They are notes kept from friends that had been passed to each other secretly in the classroom. Reading through them she is transported back to her first year at high school, complete with horrible (and wonderful) teachers, important exams and assignments, wonderful friends, and, of course, the ‘crush to end all crushes’ on the male lead in the school production. Chuckling to herself, she recalls seeing him not long ago in a bar. He was fat and bald. “Lucky escape”, she thinks to herself.
Stuck in the corner of the box is a thank you card from her best and oldest friend. She had turned up unannounced at her friend’s house after her friend had been stood up for a date. They had gone out for a girl’s night on the town.
Another flower card announcing a happy six month anniversary is next. They had finally parted ways two and a half years later.
Taking a break from her trip down memory lane, she wanders into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of wine. The house is quiet, with just the crackle of the fire breaking the silence. The red shoe box has been like a faithful teddy bear, a reassuring confidant and friend, always there for her. It has seen many wardrobes in many houses. Smiling to herself, she thinks how ironic it is to be sitting here now, having come full circle, back to the house it all started from.
Sitting back down, she picks up a love letter which is five pages long and handwritten, proclaiming all consuming, undying love. There are many of the same letters, all saying the same thing, from the same boy. They are quite sweet really.
She picks up an angry letter. A long term relationship is ending. This is a rare letter as most of the box is attached to good memories. She puts it back slowly, thoughtfully.
She sees some birthday cards. There is one from Grandma – oh how I miss you, she thinks – a farewell card from the staff at her first job, a ragged ANZAC Day poppy, an old Sunday school bookmark, letters from her American and Chinese pen pals. Pulling everything out, one by one, she reads through them all. She then returns them lovingly to the box, putting the squashed lid back in place.
Picking up the red shoe box, she walks over to the fire and throws the entire box into the roaring flames. It catches immediately, pieces of glowing orange paper swirling gloriously into the air and up the flue, gone forever.
She feels free, light and happy. From this point on look forward, not back, she thinks to herself. The red show box has served its purpose but is no longer needed. Time is moving forward and things that are important today won’t stay that way forever. After all, in two days from now, won’t tomorrow be yesterday?
The End
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