The Box

The Box

“What’s this?” Dad asked, looking into Ted’s room.

“Don’t know,” Ted answered.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“How did it get in here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Weren’t you in here all morning?”

“I went to the kitchen, when I got back it was here.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I heard you coming down the hall.”

Dad looked at the box on the floor. It was about a foot square, and seemed to be made of metal. It had no lines or designs to signify a top or bottom. He reached down and lifted it, very light, Ted could easily have carried it in himself. He put it back down.

Realizing he was caught in one of those Dad Moments, his mind raced as to what to do, or say. Finally, he said, “Do you want me to take it out?” for lack of any other ideas.

Ted squinted at it a minute then said, “No, I think I want to see what it is.”

Feeling like he’d made the right move, not ruining Ted’s game, Dad left.

Ted looked at the box again then said out loud, “Where did you come from?”

After several minutes a small voice said, “I’m scared.”

Understanding immediately that it was a child, Ted asked, “What do you need?”

“I need to see sky,” the tiny frightened voice said.

Ted picked it up and took it outside.

The box started glowing, suddenly a joyful voice said “Thank you!” and the box disappeared.

Back inside, walking by the kitchen, Dad looked up asking what he'd done with the box.

“I think I sent it home,” Ted said.

Dad watched him walk away, then turned back to his iPad, “Kids!” he thought, chuckling, “They can make anything fun.”