THE CARTON SPEAKS ITS TRUTH by LinMarie DiCianni

With her cross-country move just 48 hours away, Sheila sensed her every nerve fraying, the pressure of time leaning heavily on her distracted mind. How to settle herself and refocus, she wondered, though unwilling to embrace the community guru’s well-intentioned mindfulness crap.

Sipping steaming black coffee from a banged-up travel mug, pacing the garage floor, she spied a carton wrapped in wedding-themed glossy paper. Tom, her used-to-be partner, had split for the monk’s life more than five years ago after giving their marriage an earnest ten-year trial. Neither of them was a quitter; instead, they together acknowledged their time together was up.

This box hadn’t been fully unwrapped in a decade and a half! Its tag showed it was from their dearest friends, both of whom had borne witness to their intimate vows exchange. Sheila smiled, remembering this thoughtfully chosen quick-start collection of all she and Tom would need to set up their kitchen. The place settings, saucepans, corkscrew, table runner, centerpiece flower vase – all of what used to live in that beautifully decorated box had long ago been passed on to others.

“Why are you still here,” she asked the well-worn box, understanding it would remain mute. Surprise! This carton of memories had a tale to share it could no longer suppress, and so it spoke…

“I wish I could ask you, sweet Sheila, why you kept my wrapping nearly intact, protecting me from moisture, bugs, and dust. You’ve always been so hoarding-averse! When any other box’s first life is complete, you delicately remove its paper and ribbon, without tears or haste; then neatly fold and add both to your enormous Ziplock wrapping bag. The carton itself is either donated or recycled – job done.”

The carton continued: “Why am I different? What made you refill me when Tom left for the monastery five years ago? You took advantage of my sturdiness, stuffing me with odds and ends he refused to bother himself about. A quirk of your ways is you’ve never met a thick black marker, box label, or roll of packing tape you didn’t love. But Tom? He was on a spiritual pilgrimage that had taken on an urgency he couldn’t ignore and so easily left behind detritus from his soon-to-be past life.”

“Sheila, why the hell am I covered in this faded bride-and-groom/cake/calligraphed-in-gold-congratulatory-wedding-wishes paper? Because all I contain now is books and compact discs, playing cards and too-large sweaters, mementos from a no-longer-current scene – not precious start-up kitchen goodies from beloved friends celebrating your marriage!”

In her caffeinated state, an alert Sheila took care of business. With uncharacteristic abandon, she returned the box to its natural state, vigorously ripping its dusty paper, crumpling it, and deftly aiming into the bin for the next morning’s trash collection. Without sentiment or rumination, she mindfully loaded it into her trunk, destined for the next charity shop run. She thanked the carton for teaching her, reminding her, of what truly matters – to embrace the present with gratitude for the past.