Pandora's Box

In Greek mythology, there was a young girl named Pandora. She received a box as a gift. It held all the evils of the world, and she was told not to open it. But curiosity got the best of her and she opened it, allowing all of the wicked things into the world. Only hope was left to remain in that box.

It seems that history does indeed repeat itself.

A couple of nights ago, I was searching my room for a box of notes I was certain I had kept. So naturally I looked through all of my shoe boxes and such. I pulled open a drawer that I keep some of my magazines in and found a shoe box that had once contained a pair of flats made by Prediction. An obvious omen, no? Well, being my usual stupid self, I couldn't remember why I had bound it shut with packaging tape.

I am a true idiot.

I mean, you think I'd take a hint and keep the damn thing closed. But, no. Instead, I opened the box. Curiosity truly did kill the cat. I felt like someone had plunged a sword into my heart and twisted it, opening a wound I thought had healed long ago.

Gently, I unpacked the box. Three cards; two for Valentine's Day and one for a birthday. All addressed to his "angel". A fallen angel now. A glass slipper for his "Cinderella".  He always remembered the little things. An air-brushed sand dollar and a small purple shell. It was his "love" 's favorite color. A blue and white tie-dyed t-shirt, a Valentine's teddy bear, and, beneath it all, a rose. It was decaying and the smell of rotting petals was almost overpowering. And as I glanced at the dresser, I caught a glimpse of a small gray box. I didn't have to open it to know what was in it. It was a small lavender heart set in a silver band. The one he gave me for Christmas.

I sighed, wiping my eyes on the sleeves of a jacket that was neither his nor mine, and replaced the contents of the box.

Oh, Pandora, why didn't you warn me? Now the pain, the tears, the guilt, the doubt, and the heartache have all returned.

As I closed the box and tucked it back away that night, I wondered if I had left a small bit of hope in the bottom of that shoe box amongst the moldy petals of that Homecoming rose. Or perhaps it is tucked away with that ring, snug in that little gray box atop my dresser, just waiting to be taken out again.