The Box

In an auction, you place a bid on a strange object and you win the bid.

The Box


         Madeline pulled up into the driveway in her fifteen year old Dodge Caravan. She hit the garage door opener and it opened the garage door about a third of the way.

         Growling at the opener’s failure, she honked the car horn hoping to rouse one of her three teen aged boys to come help haul in two carts worth of groceries. She waited…no one.

         Just as she shoved open her door while grabbing her purse, which weighed in at about twenty pounds, the wind suddenly picked up and rain came streaking at her.
         She ran up to the front door with keys in hand, but getting drenched along the way. Her hair dripping down her collar and running all the way down her back all the way to her backside.
Halfway falling in the door, she called out for help with the groceries…nothing, no one.
She went up the steps, to the kitchen, set down her purse and looked back toward the living room. There on the couch sat all three of her teenaged sons. Each one twitching and jerking with the odd movements that comes with playing multi player post-apocalyptic video games.
She walked up beside the oldest, 17 year old Kyle, and tapped his head phones.
Kyle made a face, letting her know she was wrong to interrupt him and said, “What Mom?!”
Madeline, single Mom and only girl in her family, with six brothers, and raised on a Montana ranch, simply said, “Groceries now…and seen if you can get that frigg’n garage door opened and pull the car in.”
Grumbling and snatching the keys Kyle shot back, “It’s not a car, it’s a van.” He socked both of his brothers and shouted, “Groceries!”
Thirty minutes later the boys were back on the couch twitching and grunting under their headphones, the groceries stowed away, and Madeline poured herself a liberal slug of Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey and headed back to her bedroom.
Just six months before Frank left her and the boys for Misty, his twenty three year old secretary, he agreed to have their master bedroom bathroom remodeled. It included a two person, shoulder deep, six bubbler jets tub.
Frank was about eight months into his affair with Misty, guilt drove his agreement to the Deluxe II version of the Royal tubs line, or so Madeline chose to believe, sipping her Fireball, sinking shoulder deep in the almost too hot water in her tub. All six jets pulsating.


         Madeline reached for her Dragonfly in Amber paperback, the second book in the Outlander series of novels by Diana Gabaldon, who she loved, possibly her favorite author.
She was anxious to read what her time travelling 20th century nurse Claire Randall and her 18th century Scottish Highlander warrior husband Jamie Fraser, were going to do with the Brits closing in, and then her phone rang.

Madeline whispered frag it, setting down the book and grabbing her iPhone.
“Hello...”
“Maddie! It’s Pam…”
“Oh hi Pam!” Madeline tried to sound enthused, but didn’t pull it off.
“Catch you at a bad time?” Pam asked.
“I’m in the tub with Jaimie and Claire.”
“What?!”
“Never mind, what’s on your mind Pam?”
“My Auction, you know I’m Chair of this year’s charity auction at the Club…we’re benefiting Seattle Children’s Hospital…”
“Oh, yes, nice.” The tub water was cooling, Madeline took a nice pull of her Fireball, silently thanking herself for pouring such a liberal amount. Was she psychic, did she know Pam was going to call?
“Well, can I count on you and three more with you?” Pam enthused, her Realtor voice cutting through Madeline’s peace.
“Well, um…” Madeline managed.
“Ooooh great! I knew you’d come through! You’re the best! Next Sunday 7pm at the Club House!”
         The phone went quiet. Madeline scowled at it.
No wonder Pam sold a gazillion houses every year, she never gave anyone a chance to say no!
         That voice! Uggg!
Madeline took smaller sip and turned on the hot water. Back to Claire, Sassenach and Jaimie.
         The next morning the boys slammed out of the house running pell mell to their bus stop. Madeline looked behind their wake looking for dropped papers or left behind lunch bags. Nothing apparent, she headed out the door, checked to be sure it was locked behind her and headed up Densmore Ave to the Park and Ride.


Her bus ride into downtown to the Seafirst Center, Downtown, Seattle, might allow her to read another chapter of Dragonfly in Amber.
         Might, was the right word thought. She would put in her ear buds, indicating listening to music; she’d have her book in plain view. A non-verbal way of saying, “I’m not looking for conversation…”

         Even so, a fellow bus passenger determined to get attention will start talking at you anyway. Madeline immediately imagined three openers, “Oh the Diana Gabaldon books…I love them, have you read her…” or “Are those Skull Candy ear buds any good?” or “What a pretty scarf…did you crotchet it yourself…”
Maybe today was going to be a good day, no one tried to talk to her the whole ride downtown!

         She loved the Seafirst Bank building, in March 28, 1969; the Seattle First (a.k.a. Sea-First and Seafirst) National Bank dedicated its 50-story headquarters at 1001 4th Avenue in downtown Seattle. The structure is (in 1969) was the largest building in Seattle and the "tallest west of the Mississippi."

         Now other buildings were taller. The tallest building in Seattle was now the 76-story Columbia Center, which rises 937 feet (286 m) high. It is currently the 24th-tallest building in the United States, and the tallest building in the state of Washington.
Her thoughts sounded like the buildings docent.

         Even if Seafirst, had been dwarfed by 36 feet, she still thought it was the best building in Seattle, though when the Blue Angels were flying during Sea Faire, her sons chose the top floor of Columbia Center.

         This was her 15th year at Brown Wright and Patterson. They held the top six floors and she was on the 49th floor.

         She was a legal secretary, and though the work had become tedious over the years, she earned over $62,000.00 per year plus a Christmas bonus…and Frank was eighteen months behind on child support. She was sure he would never make any attempt to catch up. Last she knew he was running a sport fishing boat out of Cabo. So frank had told her youngest, 12 year old hopeful, loving gentle Travis.

         Her thoughts drifted to Travis, this morning he wore a neon pink T-shirt that said, Kiss here on the back, with an arrow pointing to his butt. Had she actually bought him that?
His hair long, and moppy, but it was actually a $24.00 cut, not including tip at his stylist’s shop.
         His look was called Emo…which was very effeminate, cute, pretty, but you probably cannot, or should not call anything effeminate, it must be a judgmental word now, indeed a micro-aggression.
         Too her amazement, his older brothers never said a word about his look. In fact, last year her 15 year old gave his little brother lime green Keds with aqua laces for Christmas.

Chapter Two

         It was Sunday evening faster than she could have believed. She had actually managed to cajole three of her cubical club legal secretaries to join her at the auction. Two agreed joyfully hoping to find some perfect thing for their apartment décor. The last agreed, probably, because Madeline was her immediate boss. Madeline didn’t care. Getting three was her best defense against some back-handed compliment Pam might give her if she turned up short of her three.

         The Golf Club at Newcastle is the premier Pacific Northwest golf course and event destination, the brochure Madeline was clutching said. It was a very swanky place. Madeline laughed at herself inside; swanky was the word her dad used for any place that required him to wear something besides his Dikies overalls back home in Montana.
Her dad called the Perkins Family Restaurant & Bakery on Harrison Avenue in Butte, swanky.

         He’d complain playfully on the drive in from the ranch and her mom would say, “Oh, David, how you do put on.”
         It was their ritual, his complaints at being all polished up to go to some swanky joint that was going to charge him twenty bucks for an over cooked slab of meat, that he could do a better job with at home on his Webber Barbeque.

         It was during one of her flash backs that she heard “Sold Paddle number 106!”
Paddle 106, wasn’t that hers? What had she bought, oh crap she was swatting some tiny fly with her paddle…and now she won the bid.

         She approached the recorder’s table and presented he paddle number. The item was $60.00 plus a buyer’s premium of 10% so she presented her VISA card for $66.00. Her receipt read; 17th Century Persian Box, Emerald colored, with worn gold overlay.

         A sweet blue haired lady walked her to her item. It was very pretty really; about three inches tall maybe six by eight inches wide.

         She instinctively tried to open it, but it would not budge. Even so, it was really fascinating; it looked like inlayed flowers and maybe a sentence in Persian?

         When she got home she showed it to the boys and they politely said, “Nice,” in unison and went back to twitching and grunting under their headphones.

         Her boys might not have been enthralled by the unusual decorative box but she was. She was determined to bring it to Saul Weinstein at Seattle Pacific Antiques. He was the real deal when telling you about your antique finds. He was featured several times on Antiques Road Show as an appraiser.

Chapter III

         She made it to Seattle Pacific Antiques about thirty minutes before their closing time Wednesday night three days after the auction. Luckily, Saul was there.

“Well, Madeline, may I call you Madeline?” Saul began.
Madeline nodded in the affirmative a slight giddy smile forming. She was excited.

“Number one thing, this fine little box is probably significantly older than the 17th Century, since that is AD. This box is from an era prior to maybe the time of kingdoms before Christ; BC.”

         “Your box is not Persian, though that is a common mistake, between Persian Sanskrit and what your box has inlayed, which is Hindi, keemat kismat kee, कीमत किस्मत की, which roughly translates as, Fortune, With Costs; an unknown and unpredictable phenomenon that causes an event to result one way rather than another.”

         “During it's day, receiving this box as a gift from someone was dubious at best and worrisome at worst.” Saul smiled handing her back the box. He had made no move to open it.
“Goodness, should I be worried?” Madeline asked.

         “Well, no, the first person to receive it, may have had reason for concern but you dear were not its intended,” Saul said with a wink, then added, “Put it somewhere you’ll enjoy looking at it, uh, but leave it sealed, it’s old, opening it may cause its structural integrity to fail.”

         Saul watched Madeline as she left the store thanking him and waving, he waved back and thought, please don’t open it
He wondered why he had not told her to toss the damn thing off Pier off Pier 66 and then go have a nice meal in Anthony’s.
Then he thought, “good grief, you have become a spooky old man at 87!”

         On the bus she kept looking at her Hindi Fortune box and was amazed that she may have a 2300 year old box from India that cost her $66.00.
She also had a brief thought about Saul’s face when he told her not to open it. Actually when he told her the reason, he seemed to be prevaricating, a word one of her Montana grade school teachers used to use when listening to lost homework assignment excuses.
She shook it off, after all, why would he be evading anything about her pretty Hindi box?



         Months later, December 13th to be exact, the 12 Days Before Christmas warnings were all over the radio and TV, she stumble walked back to her bedroom to get her cursed heels off and maybe even put on her wonderful frumpy US Navy jogging suit so worn and so comfy.
         As she pulled her bra off, going for full liberating comfort, and then pulling over her sweatshirt, she realized her ancient little Hindi box was not on her vanity.
Bare foot, in her Navy sweats she headed out to the living room finding only, Kyle her 15 year old who was wearing a flat military haircut. He had signed up for Junior ROTC, which now had to meet off campus, anti-military feeling pervaded his high school.

“Give me a break Mom, you just letting your girls free?” Kyle said playfully acting shocked.
“Yes, they’ve earned their freedom. Now, do you have any idea where my Hindi box went?” Madeline asked.
         “Sure, Travis took it to school; you told him he could this morning on the way to school.”
         “I did?” Oh well, she thought, I’m not surprised I said, “Ok, yes or go for it”, during the morning rush. Then she thought, “Hope he doesn’t try and open it!” Then felt a bit of a chill. Her Mom might say, “Oops, someone just walked over my grave.”

Then she thought, “Why would folks, perfectly alive, have a grave?”
         She got so curious at that moment she Googled it and found a discussion on aboard called, The Phrase Finder
Does anyone know the origins of the phrase "someone walked over my grave" that people use when they shiver for no reason?
: It is taboo in my part of the U.S. (mountains of West Virginia) to step on a grave. You walk around it. I'll have to do a little research to get more details.
: : So far, I've found two versions of this saying:
: : "If you suddenly shudder, it means a rabbit (or goose) has run across your grave." This is from The Mountain Times, Appalachian Folk Beliefs, online. Another source yielded the belief that shuddering meant a goose was running across your grave.
: : I am not exactly sure what this means. A person or animal walks across your grave. Does that mean the site where your grave will be located? Or does it mean a trespass on your grave in the future causes a retro effect and makes the "living you," in the present, shiver?
: Thanks. I've never understood that either. I've always wondered if the phrase came from Ireland, which it would or might through the Appalachian connection.

Chapter IV

         Travis came home and sheepishly handed her the Hindi box in two distinct pieces. What caught her attention though was the hunk of gauze and Band-Aids he had plastered on his chin.

         “What in the world happened to you?” She asked, reaching immediately to peal the first aid items off.

Travis grabbed her hand and said, “Let me do it, you’ll rip my skin off!”
He peeled it off slowly, and Madeline had to admit to herself, she would have whipped it off.

         “Hey, that should have stitches!” She said reaching for the phone.

“Put your coat back on, we gotta go to Urgent Care and get you sewed up.”

“OK, but are you going to go like that?” Travis asked, clearly scowling at her chest.

         So as not to damage her son for life she re- imprisoned her girls and essentially redressed for work, but no heals!

         As they waited at Providence Neighborhood Care, Travis told her what happened.
“Well, Jamal, you know, my second best friend, he grabbed the box and I grabbed it back and I said, “Don’t trip potato chip!” and the next thing I knew, I tripped and banged my chin on the water fountain by the gym,”

“It was so dumb, I tell him don’t trip and then I do!” Travis shook his head and said, “Dumb very dumb!”

         Then he stood and dug a small figure out of his pocket. “This flew out when the box broke.”
         He handed her a small man shaped figure made of hardened wax and hair; Human hair?
         She snatched it from him and shoved it in her voluminous purse. Madeline had no good reason for it, but she didn’t want that thing anywhere near her kid anymore. It was as if she was snatching a poisonous snake from him.

         Travis was a bit startled by her actions and then remembered he hadn’t apologized for breaking her box.

         “Sorry I busted your box, there’s some Elmer’s Wood Glue on the shelf in the garage over dad’s tool counter; Right by the vise.” Travis said looking truly contrite.
         “Oh honey don’t worry about the box, I just don’t want that little bad luck bugger having another chance at hurting my Huggy Pup.”
         “Mommm!” he whispered hoarsely, “Someone could hear you!”
“I don’t care no one trips my kid!” Madeline said, and really meant it.

         “Mom some 2,000 year old hunk of gunk didn’t make me trip.” Travis said frowning. His expression clearly indicating that maybe his Mom should seek emergency mental health services while he got his stitches.

         “I didn’t mean that anyway…I meant, NO HUGGY PUP!” he said blushing, adding, “I’m almost 13!”

         The ugly wax figure momentarily forgotten, as Madeline felt a small sense of sadness, her last baby was nearly 13 alright, and would become more and more resistant to her overt affectionate words and deeds.

         Travis received five stitches, two inside and three outside. He only jumped once as the Novocain needle, which looked like a Dr. Frankenstein tool was stuck deep into the wound area.


         When they were putting together a Christmas package for their Dad, Madeline put the repaired Hindi box and its little wax man in the box.

         She put a note on it, “Especially for you, Frank and Misty.”
She’d wait till after the New Year, then call him and demand he get current with his child support.
Then maybe he’d say to Misty, “I hope that witch drops off the face of the earth!”
Would the little man grant his fortune?

keemat kismat kee,
कीमत किस्मत की,