THE BOX
by Val Leichtman
The large, wooden box sits on top of the table. I run my fingers over the address label. It was shipped from my late grandfather’s estate. Maybe it’s his old belt. The time he beat me with it till I bled comes flashing back. I shake my head, clearing the memory and willing the phantom stinging on my back away.Or maybe it’s the big dictionary I had to copy out of when I was bad. His green eyes stare at me angrily. I jump back from the box before I can help it. My heart pounding in my ears, I move back toward the box. I swallow, but the lump in my throat just grows. I stand up straight and rip open the box like tearing off a bandaid.
Inside, was my father’s old, tattered Teddy bear.
___
Fear is a funny thing. When I let myself stew in it, I can make monsters out of Teddy bears. One of the things I often hear at BOWAworld is “FEAR is False Expectations Appearing Real.” That really is a very valid statement for me. I am only afraid of the unknown: how that meeting is going to go, how I’m going to perform on my project, what So-In-So might think of me.
Fear for me only exists before I know the facts, before I experience the situation. And, the funny thing is, usually my fear is much worse than what the actual outcome is. So, the next time I feel fear biting at my heels, I’m just going to go ahead and open the box.
JUN