The Music Box

Sunlight sparkled throw the dingy yellow window, splaying rays of light across the table. Dust particles danced in the rays, flowing onto the tattered Persian rug that lay on the worn hardwood floor. The bed that stood on the rug was old lopsided, mattress was lumpy and filled with holes. The woman that lay in the bed was just as old as the room. Her skin loose flabby and grey. Her hair that hung over her flabby breasts was a yellowish gray.

On the table sat an ornate box made of cherry wood, it was the only thing in the room that didn’t show age or broken and sad. It sat there on the table with gold embossed grape leaves around the rim, promising to bring the memories of happiness, of youth and light.

She stirred on the bed, trying to remember what day it was. She could feel the warmth of the sun on her face. It felt so good, tingling across her face. As she looked down the worn blankets she could see her hand lying on her stomach. It rose up and down with each breath that she took. To her the skin was smooth; her finger nails were long and well manicured, painted a brilliant red.

The color brought to mind the day and the month. It was April and the first day of the opera season. Miranda jumped out of bed with the enthusiasm of a teen, yet the movement was that of woman eighty-five years. She flung her hair back and with the grace of her age she placed her feet on the old rug.

Walking to the window she looked out, her past the only visible sight. The dilapidated neon sign across the street sat on top of the old brick building that looked as if it would fall down any day. To Miranda it was the park, graceful cottonwood, dirt paths for the horses, blanketed in a sea of brilliant green grass.

She clapped her hands. The joy of the spring day made her fill like leaping in the air. She turned to the box and gently lifted the lid. The music didn’t flow. She picked up the box and ever so carefully she turned the golden lever till it was taut. Lifting the lid again the music flowed gently throughout the room.

Miranda lifted the hem of thin flannel nightgown she began to twirl. She floated over to the broken gilt mirror that hung over the dresser that had been painted white many years ago. She stared at the image in the mirror. Her long auburn hair fell over her shoulders, as her bright blue eyes stared back at her. She was still beautiful.

Pulling her nightgown over her head, the long flabby breasts laid there like clay. She poured the cold water from the pitcher that stood on the dresser, into the bowl that stood next to it. Scooping the water up with her feeble old hands she splashed it across her face and under her breasts.

Miranda’s toilet done she went over to her closet and dragged out the cedar chest that had been stowed there years ago. Opening the chest she took out the chiffon paper and lying underneath was the coral formal that had been lovingly packed away.
Taking the dress out of the chest she held it up to her body.  It felt nice against her naked skin. Rewinding her music box she waited to her the tingling sound of the music box. Dancing again she waltzed over to the bed laying the dress down on the bed.
She sat down in the chair. She was tired again. The chair felt so good, that she nodded off again dreaming of the first night of the opera. She slept until her hunger began to gnaw at her stomach. She woke up the afternoon sun had shifted leaving the room dull and uninteresting.
It was time to dress. She found her clean underwear and put them on. Then she found her slip. That wonderful slip, made from silk and finally the dress. The chiffon made a crinkling sound as it fell to the ground. The bodice was snug creating more wrinkles on her already wrinkled chest. The color of her dress contrasted with the liver spots that were heavily sprinkled on her arms and torso.
Miranda groomed her hair in a fashionable twist. Under her mattress she had hidden her tiara. The rhinestone jewels glowed in the fading sunlight. The last thing she needed was her mink stole. Finally Miranda was ready for the opera.

Down the street from her flea bitten hotel was a bar that had free hors d’oeuvres with happy hour drinks. Miranda walked in and looked around. Finding a stool at the bar she ordered a gin and tonic. Looking around the bar she watched the waitress serve food on the other side of the room. Making herself invisible she walked over to the buffet table and opening her purse she filled it full finger sandwiches. Then she walked back to the bar. The bartender turned his back and Miranda slipped out the door. Her purse was full and she was full of gin.
The music box played and Miranda sat down in the alley. She saw the carriage pull up in front of her. Her date stepped out of the carriage; the horses snorted and shook their manes. He walked to Miranda corsage made of orchids in hand. Miranda took his outreached hand. As they walked to the carriage she looked back to see the old woman lying in the alleyway.She went to the opera for the last time. The music box finally stopped playing.