http://wovenstrands.wordpress.com/2011/05/02/may-flash-fiction-challenge/#comment-774 )
A mysterious box was sitting on my doorstep. It was large and I stepped around it as I unlocked and opened my door, surveying it.
“What’s in the box,” the voice that came from behind me startled me. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Braxton leaned against the post; his military haircut made his face more angular. He’d shed all his baby fat in the time he’d been away. He seemed so much older than only the almost year that had passed. I entered the entry way and sat my things down on the bench just inside the door. I turned and faced him again; suddenly in the memory of the last time I’d seen him, the two of us, sat under the large weeping willow in the field between our neighborhoods. We always met there. It was three days after he’d turned eighteen, and we’d watched the sun set, and sat there talking for hours. We’d both announced that we had something to tell each other. He made me go first. I reluctantly told him that I loved him, and wanted to be with him. Not only was he my best friend, he was the love of my life. His response was a kiss, gentle and sweet under the bright midnight moon. But the next day he was gone. Boot camp. He didn’t tell me he’d enlisted and he left without saying goodbye, no emails, no texts, and no phone calls. He just left.
“Do you need help with that box,” he motioned to it.
“No, I don’t need anything from you,” I glared at him a moment before I surveyed the box again. He backed away from the box, and turned to leave. I tried lifting the box but it wouldn’t budge. What the heck had my parents ordered?
“Um,” I said as I gulped, swallowing what was left of my pride. “Can you help me?” I heard his smirk but I didn’t look up.
“Um,” I said as I gulped, swallowing what was left of my pride. “Can you help me?” I heard his smirk but I didn’t look up.
“Sure,” he said, as he came back up and lifted the box easily, carrying it inside. He put it down in the foyer. “Wow, it even smells the same in here,” he paused and gave me a small smile. “Somethings never change. I’m sorry for the way I handled things last summer; I should have never left like that,” the sincerity poured from his eyes.
“Me too,” I said as I looked at my feet.
“Can we talk,” his smile widened hopeful.
“Sure, can we meet at the willow,” I ask. He creased his lips and nodded before he turned to leave through the front door. I wondered what we would talk about. I hoped he would explain why he left like he had but I guessed I would find out soon enough. I looked back down at the box and considered opening it, when I saw the name. Lucille Bartron, my neighbor. I sighed and walked through the front door, the box was now my parent’s problem.
