The Blue Box Answer

I filled the cup with water and set it on the table.

"Thank you," he said politely, and I stared at him for a moment before walking back into the kitchen and drying my hands on the dish towel. "What do you want," I said finally, not turning to look at him; with so little energy that the question didn't even sound like a question.

"Listen," he said.

He always started this way.

But it was unnecessary.

I was always already listening.

"Listen," he said again, his hand falling to the table. I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on the fridge. "I'm listening," I whispered, the anguish clear in my voice.

He was silent for a moment, and fear made my chest constrict violently as I waited for the sound of the front door clicking shut behind him again. "I need the box, Lenina." He stopped, and then added, more quietly, more sadly, "Please."

He knew I wouldn't give it to him.

It was the only thing that kept him coming back.

"I can't, Henry. You know I can't." And it was true. He knew as well as I did my inability to give him up.

People say that true love is being willing to let someone go. If this is true, then I guess I'm not truly in love with Henry, because nothing pains me more than the thought of his leaving forever.

Except maybe the look on his face every time he tries.

When the door does click shut behind Henry, I slide to the floor– I never turned away from the fridge except to glance, just once, at his Neptune-blue eyes.

Tears escape me, my sobs are dry and pathetic. My fingers curl on the cold tile and I ask myself what I'm doing with my life.

I stand up and walk up to my bedroom, to the chest on my bedside table.

I pull the key out my pocket and unlock the tiny treasure trove, and inside the blue box waits for me.

It, too, is Neptune-colored, azure satin coating the top and bottom. I wonder if the inside, too, is coated in the satin, but I don't open it to check.

I don't know what is in this little blue box, but I know it is my answer to prayer.

I run my fingers along the satin and a tear finally falls, staining the fabric.

I place the box back in my little chest and place my hand on the lid.

And I look out my window to see his silhouette in the distance as he walks away from me.

But he'll be back.

I turn back to the chest and turn my key in the lock, to protect my blue box answer.

© 2012