A Small Box

Notes from Janey . . .

I belong to a small and intimate writers group in Story, Wyoming,
called Storytellers. Here’s a piece I wrote when the assignment for
the week was, “It came in a small box.” This is a bit different
from the usual writing Tupelo and I send to you, but here it is
with the hope you might notice what areas of your life are boxing
you in so you can do something about it if you choose to.

A Small Box

When I slipped out into the world, I must have been confused at
first, thinking I was a mermaid instead of human because I held
onto the fluid in my lungs and refused to take in the alien air. So
when I was presented to my parents, I came in a small box, an
incubator. No bows, no ribbons, just tubes and glass and a
paralyzing fear their newborn might not come home with them. They
worried over the incubator, like the egg we watched in third grade
until the hairless creature finally pecked its way out.

When I convinced the doctors I had given up on being a mermaid and
hatched into a squalling baby that had the lung power to peg the
volume to 11, my parents handled me carefully, gratefully, and
placed me in a metal box – my grandpa’s 1949 Buick. Arriving 45
minutes later in the small town of Story, I was cribbed into the
top drawer of a boxy dresser. This was nested into a bigger wooden
box, my grandparent’s cabin.

P1200428-smaller

As I grew my world expanded into more complex boxes. School, a box
full of play and pretend was fun at first, but then made bearable
by my cliquish box of friends.

For years, in a box-shaped swimming pool, I tried in vain to
return to my mermaid heart.

I rebelled from the suffocating box of my first serious
relationship and escaped in a streamlined box to Europe.

There I found my voice box, surprising me when it turned on its
singing voice, so I stepped up on a box-like stage, changing my
life for good and for the good from that moment on.

As I grow older I fight to keep my mind from becoming a closed box
of limited beliefs and narrow ideas. My heart strains to keep my
world open and not closed off in a constricted box of my own making.

My first two weeks on earth might have been spent in a small box,
but ever since, I’ve been doing my best to live outside the box the
best I know how.

This is the end of the article entitled A Small Box published by Tupelo Kenyon on July 12, 2012 at 6:55 pm | In Uncategorized - Copyright 2007 - All rights reserved worldwide.


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