I woke up one Sunday morning to a knock at the door. When I opened it, there was a man standing on the porch with a gift in his hand. I thought it was odd because, who delivers packages on a Sunday morning? And, besides, I didn’t order anything. I explained to him he must have the wrong house but he insisted that it was for me. Didn’t ask me to sign or anything, just placed it in my hands and bounced.
I walked inside and sat down. I was excited but nervous. Confused. The package was large, wrapped in gold paper, and tied with a silver bow. Under the bow was a bouquet of wildflowers, including lavender, my favorite scent. I opened the envelope taped to the outside of the package. Inside was a crumbled up piece of paper with a set of instructions.
- Throw the package away.
- Since you couldn’t throw it away, you must find a place to hide the package.
- That didn’t last long, did it? You can now open the package but not all at once. Today, you can untie the bow.
- Everyday, you can open one layer of wrapping paper.
That’s it. One, two, three, four. No clue where it came from or what it was. Everyday, I opened another layer. The anticipation grew and as the days went on, the package became smaller and smaller. I didn’t let that kill my hope. It could be a diamond, inside. A piece of fine jewelry. A stack of cash. Gold. Anything.
On the last day, I opened up the last package. It was a small ring box. I opened the box and my heart sank. It was empty. Nothing there. No explanation.
Do I throw the box away or save it, just in case? I have no clue. It’s been years and I still haven’t decided what i’m supposed to do with that empty box.