The Box
by Art Foster
“What’s this?” Mark asked, knowing full well it was the latest purchase from her antiquing weekend trip with the girls. She was always picking up odd and end things that ended up collecting dust on the overfilled shelves of their brownstone. Neglected remnants of lost weekends.
It was a simple unassuming wooden box with a hinged lid, just big enough to hold a deck of playing cards, nothing special. It looked like a C- woodshop project that was pieced together out of cheap pine but stained to look like a hardwood, maybe mahogany, maybe cherry, it was hard to tell.
“I thought it was cute,’” she said. “Inside, there’s a card that says, Take Me Home. Please. I couldn’t help myself.” Mark opened the little box and looked inside.
“Is this your idea of a joke?” He said. “Because it isn’t funny.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The card inside doesn’t say ‘Take Me Home,’ it says, She Spent the weekend with Robert.” He said, slamming the small lid shut. “Are you serious, is this how you decided to tell me?”
“Let me see that,” she said, reaching out for the box. Mark tossed it to her and crossed his arms tightly across his chest. “What the hell,” she softly uttered as she read the single word on the card. Run.
Art Foster is a U.S. Marine (ret), writer, student, sailor, and a veteran of three wars. He was born in Savannah, Georgia, has lived and traveled around the world, and currently resides in Southern Louisiana with his wife and two dogs. He is currently pursuing an MLA in Creative Writing and Literature from Harvard University Extension School. He can be reached at arthur.l.foster@outlook.com.