The Jewelry Box

A six year old girl opened her Christmas present, face filled with delight. Spindly pine tree branches hung overhead, and scented needles speckled the floor, adding texture to the polished wood underneath. The wrapping paper came off with a flourish, cartoon reindeers crinkling before being cast aside. The girl sighed in awe. There, in her hands, was a jewelry box. An iridescent ballerina, poised on one leg, shone from the lid, and the girl’s face filled with joy. She lifted the lid with reverence to reveal plush velvet insides, a small mirror and a diorama of a stage. Standing there, frozen in motion, was a ballerina like the one on the top, complete with a stiff, tulle dress. From inside the box, over the top of laughter and praise, came the tinkling sounds of the Sugar Plum Fairy, lingering in the air.

An eleven year old girl sat on her bed, feet tucked neatly underneath her. Her face was stricken, and her gaze glued to her cupboard where a school uniform hung from the door handle. A new school uniform. For a new school. The girl started towards the uniform and then fell back onto the bed. She repeated the actions again, and then once more. It was as if she couldn’t work up the courage to walk towards the clothes; as if they were sapping the strength out of her. Suddenly she leapt to her feet and ran over to her dresser. Sitting there, surrounded by trinkets and lolly wrappers, was her jewelry box. The girl flung open the lid and smiled. The lid was slightly chipped, and the velvet slightly worn, but both seemed to radiate memories. The girl randomly selected a bracelet, and clicked it to her wrist. Now she was ready to face the uniform. Out of the corner of her eye, as she turned with renewed bravo, the girl caught sight of the tiny ballerina. Still the dancer spun and spun, never tiring of the seemingly endless dance, save when the box had to be rewound. In time with the figure’s twirling were the quiet strains of music, lifting and falling, rising and calling, rejoicing.

A teenage girl slammed her door, making it shudder in its frame. She slumped against it, a lump building in her throat. The sounds of her parents fighting were not lessened by the walls, and their screams filled her ears and hooked in her head. She stumbled to her dresser and looked at her bleary face in the mirror, eyes full, face splotchy and mouth down-turned. She blinked back the unshed tears, and bit her lip, trying to bring a semblance of normality to her expression. Her traitorous hand shook, and she grabbed the nearest thing she could to steady it. It landed on the jewelry box. She jerked her hand away, as if burned, and the box crashed to the ground, scattering its glittering contents. The girl bent slowly, picking it up from among the debris, and brought it to eye level. The ballerina, smaller than she’d ever been, still spun. The music, plaintive, continued with her. The girl could feel her heart steadying, her mind calming. The melody played recollections as well as notes, and they transported the girl to a different time. Suddenly the music slowed, as did the turning of the dancer. The girl quickly tried to wind the box back up again, but her hands fumbled and everything crashed to the floor once more. She stood unmoving. The box spluttered and ballerina slowed as if she were moving through treacle. The music whispered to a stop, the last notes fading into silence. The tears finally fell.