Box of Rain and Whispers

Elizabeth needed the box. She pulled out drawers, running her hands around sides and under clothes. She pulled boxes out of the top shelves in closets, looking for the box within the box, within the box. How could she have misplaced it, one of her most treasured possessions.

Not amongst her box of jewelry. It wasn’t on her shelf of treasures. Not in the items boxed up with the painters were working on the front half of the interior. A moment of panic that it wound up in the box that was donated to the thrift store. But she was sure, certain, she still had it. But where?

She made a cup of tea and curled up in her favorite chair. Closed her eyes and pictured it clearly. Maybe three inches by four inches. Rumored to be made of camel bone. Little feet in each corner. Exquisitely painted, each side different: Vines and flowers. Birds and beasts. The story box. It had another name. She could not remember the last time she’d seen it, the last time she’d needed it.

When Elizabeth was a small child, she’d been gravely ill. Every night before yet another trip to the doctor, her father would hand her the box. He called it the Box of Rain and Whispers. They’d look at it together in the dim glow of the nightlight. She’d turn it and turn it, looking at magical scenes. When she opened the lid, her father would begin to craft an original tale. One of bravery, one of heroics starring beautiful birds and fantastical beasts. At the end of the telling, she would close the lid so the story wouldn’t escape. She believed she was capturing the stories her father told. She remembered falling asleep with the box clutched in her small hands but would find it on the shelf in her room upon awakening.

Then she knew. Elizabeth had inherited her father’s highboy, she’d left the papers and treasures untouched in the two small drawers, but she utilized the primary drawers for storing the papers, tapes, twines, inks and boards she needed for creating her one-of-a-kind books. In the back of the right-hand top drawer, there was the box. As beautifully detailed as she recalled, all six sides. She was hesitant to open it, would her father’s stories escape? She knew, though, she could now face the biopsy in the morning.

— Lkai