Wednesday, May 9, 2012

KekahJ Week 103: The Memory Box


Picture 1

Picture 2

KekahJ's Choice: Picture 1

The Memory Box

I smile as I look down at the picture, memories washing over me in a flood. I remember the day that photo was taken as if it were yesterday. I remember thinking that nothing would ever change for us. He was my best friend and I was his. We spent all our free time together, we practically lived at each other’s houses.

I run my thumb over the picture and sigh. A thought occurs to me and I sit up suddenly, reaching for the old box full of forgotten photos and memorabilia. My heart skips a beat as I rummage around inside the box for a moment, groping blindly. Finally, my fingers close around it, and I smile again as I retrieve it from its long forgotten hiding spot. The carousel he gave me that day.

I remember it seeming much larger the last time I held it, but then again, it probably was much larger for the small hands that received it eagerly that day. It had been my birthday. My mom had thrown an elaborate party, and he’d been there. I remember thinking how odd it was when everyone had gathered around and watched me open presents that there’d been no brightly wrapped package from him. But he’d waited until after, until the party was over to give his gift to me. I’d been walking him home, and he’d left me waiting in the street while he dashed inside his house, returning a moment later, breathless and clutching the unwrapped carousel.

“This is for you,” he’d mumbled, thrusting it into my hands and blushing nervously.

I’d grinned at him and my child size heart had swelled.

He’d stared at me a moment longer before quickly leaning in and planting a quick kiss on my lips. Our first kiss.

I sit back on the bed, sighing as I turn the little ceramic carousel over in my hands, reflecting back on everything that had happened since that day. How terribly wrong things had gone. Big fat tears fall from my eyes and threaten to ruin the photograph.

If only we could have stayed that young and innocent. We could have avoided all of the mistakes and regrets that now plague me daily. I wonder where he is now, and whether he thinks of me like I think of him. I wonder if he still has his copy of this photograph. I like to think that he does and maybe somewhere, at sometime, he pulls it out, runs his thumb over it and smiles as he remembers me.