On her afternoon walk, Amanda Tournier noticed a big cardboard box sitting in the middle of her neighborhood park. She stopped and crossed her arms.
“It’s probably empty,” she thought.
She sat down on a nearby bench and let her imagination fill the box full of latent desires. A leather briefcase full of $100 bills. An envelope containing a remorseful letter from her ex-boyfriend Mason begging for forgiveness. An iPhone XS and the key to a new Honda Accord. Some pretty leggings, a few floral dresses, and some smart sandals. After a while, she rose from the bench and wandered off.
As Amanda disappeared around a corner, David Ross entered from the opposite side of the park. He noticed the box and thought, “Probably full of useless shit. As useless as this fucking town. All I needed was one chance, but of course I didn’t get it. I never do. Never good enough. I hope there’s a bomb in that box.” He continued his march toward the bus station.
From the second floor of her townhome that overlooked the park, Marni Appleman watched Amanda and David pass through the park from opposite directions, equidistant from the box, and then vanish as if ending separate scenes in a one-act play. She thought of her husband Lawrence, who had been killed in the World Trade Center explosions. Her body quivered. After the attacks, she committed to never losing herself in fear and cynicism. She had too much to give. Everyone did.
She imagined that the box held something special, something beautiful and meaningful for the person who needed it most. She smiled and walked back into her living room to make a shopping list for the next day’s errands. She would check on the box later.
As Marni slid her townhome door shut, Nancy Sprague chased her three daughters across the park. The girls raced each other to see who could reach the box first. They all arrived at about the same time, ripped open the top, and shrieked with delight. Shelly, the oldest of the three, shouted, “Mommy, Mommy, pick it up! Pick it up!” Nancy reached down and gently lifted a light gray kitten from the box.
She looked it over from head to tail, then handed it to Shelly and said, “Now be gentle, dear. He’s a delicate little thing. Everyone give him some loving.” She looked back into the box and noticed a wrinkled piece of paper with a few scribbled sentences. It read, “Please take care of me and love me forever. I’m a good kitty!”
“Why not?” Nancy thought. She said, “Girls, let’s take care of this little guy. We’ll need to name him, you know. Think of something good. He’s part of the family now.” She grabbed the letter and they headed off, leaving the empty box sitting there.
