By Madelaine Zadik

Andrea was wandering through the crowds near Times Square, getting ready to kiss this miserable year good-bye. She threw herself forward into what hopefully would be better times ahead. She hated crowds but had surprised herself by agreeing to meet Amy and Petunia in this pickpocket heaven on New Year’s Eve. Her therapist had advised against it. Surveying the swarming bodies, she pondered how to maneuver. She was kicking herself for such stupidity. How was she ever going to find anyone in this mob scene? Then, out of the blue, a short woman wearing a bright red hat, appeared in front of her, looked into her eyes, and said, “Your grandfather asked me to give this to you.” 

With those words, she put an old wooden box into Andrea’s hands, and before Andrea could utter a word, the woman was gone, swallowed up by bodies congealing into one large mass in the cold air. Andrea tried to follow her, but there was no sign of the red hat. How could she have vanished so quickly?

Andrea was stunned. Her grandfather died when she was five, over 50 years ago. Who was this woman, and how could she possibly have found her here? Was the box meant for someone else? It was probably just a hoax or joke. Whatever its origins, she didn’t dare open the box in this crowd. If by some weird circumstance it really was from her grandfather, she certainly didn’t want to deal with whatever was inside right now. Fortunately, the box slid easily into her inside coat pocket, which she securely zippered shut. 

Now, where were Amy and Petunia? They had agreed to meet near the Godiva shop on Seventh Avenue, but Andrea had no idea where she was now or how to make her way there. Her head was spinning, or was it the crowd that was spinning around her? She felt unsure about mentioning the box to her friends. They were always so disbelieving. They might want her to open it right then and there, and Andrea was afraid she might succumb to their curiosity. Andrea pondered whether she wanted to be alone when she opened the box. Without knowing what was inside, how could she even make such a decision? All that would have to wait, but it was hard to put it out of her mind and focus on the task at hand: finding Amy and Petunia. 

She was quickly losing hope that she would locate them. Did she even want to anymore? This whole box thing was wigging her out. How could a stranger, this woman she had never met before who didn’t even look familiar, know who Andrea was? Andrea suddenly got the urge to get the hell out of this crazy place with all these insane people. She didn’t want to risk anyone else giving her anything or taking away the box. 

She couldn’t think about anything else but the box, and she needed to get herself to a safe place to open it. Her mind was playing games with her. She found herself wanting to believe that the box really was from her grandfather. Yet, how would she even know if the contents were from him? There was no one left who could verify anything, well except for Aunt Jo, but she hadn’t seen her since Andrea’s grandmother’s funeral, and that wasn’t a pleasant experience. Aunt Jo did call when Andrea’s mother died, but she really couldn’t forgive Jo for the pain she had inflicted on Andrea’s mother and grandmother. All these memories were now swirling around her when she hadn’t thought about any of that for a long long time, nor about her grandfather. This was just ridiculous. What could he possibly have given anyone to deliver to her, especially since his death was sudden and unexpected? Why hadn’t he given it his daughter Jo? She was a teenager when her father died. She probably needed it more than Andrea, who as a five-year-old had barely known her grandfather.

She got herself onto the subway, but wasn’t going to risk handling the box on the long train ride home. All the celebratory drunks didn’t make her feel safe, box or no box. Even without knowing its contents, or perhaps because of that, the box started taking on mythic powers. Her imagination was free to make up all kinds of stories and Andrea was getting fearful of what might be revealed to her. Perhaps she didn’t want to open the box at all. There was no winning with this situation. Why was she turning it into such a big deal? It was quite impossible that the box was from her grandfather. That woman couldn’t have been holding on to it for all these years, only to find Andrea in a crowd at Times Square. Perhaps she should just open the box now and put all this conjecture to rest.

Andrea wanted to believe the box was from her grandfather. She wanted to believe that it contained something important. She fantasized that her grandfather had thought about her and wanted to impart essential information, information that was only safe for her to know now, all these years later, after Andrea’s grandmother was gone, and after her mother and father were dead. Perhaps he could foresee her struggles and wanted to help her.

Andrea remembered sitting on her grandfather’s lap as a child, looking into his blue eyes. She could picture his smile, his soft hands, and his fully white hair. He was kind and gentle, especially in contrast to her brusque grandmother. Even though Andrea was so young when he died, she did have fond memories of him, especially since her mother loved telling stories of her adventurous and unconventional father. Andrea had missed out on getting to know that aspect of him. All she had left of him now were those old photos that her mother had so cherished.

As Andrea’s imagination took over, she considered what treasure her grandfather might have left for her. It couldn’t be anything of great monetary value. Her grandparents hadn’t been wealthy. Perhaps her grandfather had had some kind of secret life, another wife, or other children that her mother and Aunt Jo didn’t know about. Andrea’s mother had portrayed him as quite the lady’s man. She was off in fantasyland again, but really, that was the only thing that made any sense. Would she want another aunt or uncle, or cousins? As a kid, she always complained about their small family, wishing for siblings.

By the time she got home, Andrea hadn’t eaten in hours but hardly noticed. She had totally exhausted herself emotionally. Amy and Petunia had called, but in her state, Andrea was oblivious to her phone. She knew she was teetering on the edge. She took two pills hoping to turn off her brain. 

Heading to bed, Andrea grabbed the scratched-up box. The brass hinges and latch were still functional. When she settled herself safely under the covers, Andrea cautiously lifted the lid. She peered inside to find black velvet cradling a yellowed envelope. Inside was a letter written by her mother to her grandfather, gushing about the joys of being a mother, how this love had changed her life. Included was a lock of hair preserved in plastic.

Her hands were shaking as she held the letter. It looked like her mother’s handwriting, but she couldn’t be sure. Why would her mother have written this when her father lived nearby? Why hadn’t it been given to her sooner? Her eyelids were getting too heavy for Andrea to keep her eyes open, much as wanted to finish reading the letter. She just managed to put everything back in the box and tuck it into her night table drawer before her head hit the pillow and she out cold. 

Suddenly, there was a loud pounding on her door. Andrea dragged herself out of bed to find Amy and Petunia glaring at her. It was already noon. “Where were you?” They were trying their best not to scream at her. “We waited for hours; texted you; called and called and called.” “I’m sorry,” was all Andrea could manage. “We were so worried.” Andrea did feel grateful to have such loving friends who cared about her so deeply. They had been through so much together. As her brain fog began lifting, Andrea’s memory kicked in. The story poured out with a force all its own. When her words came to an abrupt end, Amy and Petunia cried in unison, “Let’s see it!” 

They all headed into the bedroom. Dreams of her mother and grandfather filled Andrea’s head as she pulled open the drawer. There were pencils, stray coins, chapstick, and hand cream, but no box. Andrea gasped. Words refused to come out of her mouth, and she was afraid to look at her friends. Amy and Petunia exchanged knowing looks, and silence filled the room. 

*   *   *

Madelaine Zadik lives in the wooded hills of western Massachusetts. A former bookstore owner, botanic garden educator, and editor of Botanic Garden News, she now devotes herself to her personal writing She is currently at work on a memoir about her relationship with her Aunt Helga, whom she never knew except through letters Helga wrote from prison in Nazi Germany. Her work has been featured on New England Public Media; has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize; and has appeared in The Sun, Consequence, Mud Season Review, The Write Launch, Still Point Arts Quarterly, Zone 3, and elsewhere. Find her online at madelainezadik.com.