Little Girl in a Box

“He’s not coming back, is he?”

The question drifted up like a faint whisper from the depths of my mind, freezing me in place. My eyes followed the voice, and there she was, peeking from behind the boxes labeled “1997” and “1992” — a tiny, fragile peanut of a girl. She clutched an off-white polar bear teddy, her eyes wide and searching. I crouched down to her level, swallowing hard, and whispered, “I don’t think he is.”

Her face crumpled, her mouth opening wide as she let her teddy bear slip from her grasp to the dusty ground. The very air seemed to tremble as the walls around us shuddered, old spider webs tearing loose and falling like snowflakes. She began to cry, a wail so raw and unrestrained it felt like it could crack the world open. Without a second thought, I opened my arms, and she flung herself into them, clutching me as if she’d never let go.

I lifted her, feeling her tiny arms wrap around my neck, her legs clasped tightly around my waist. I brushed aside her tangled hair to check if the walls had stopped shaking — they had. Settling to the ground, I cradled her, whispering softly to soothe her, feeling a strange, nostalgic ache settle in my chest. “It’s not your fault,” I murmured, “that he’s not coming back.”

She pulled back slightly, her cheeks wet, her small hands warm against my neck. Her little fingers, chubby and earnest, reached up to push the hair from my face. Her voice was barely a whisper. “But you loved him.”

I forced a small smile, hiding the sting of tears. “Yes, I did. I do. And I think a part of me always will.”

“He left us,” she inhaled sharply, shuddering.

“I know.”

“They always leave,” she mumbled, her words weighted with a wisdom far beyond her years.

“I know. I am sorry.” My voice broke, chest tightening, lips pursed, my ears hot and eyes misty.

“Was it because I did something bad?”

“No,” I assured her gently. “Sometimes, people who are hurting can’t love others the way they deserve. It wasn’t us. We did the best we could.”

Her brow furrowed, and she looked up at me, her tiny, familiar face filled with worry. “Are you going to leave me too?”

I gazed down at her, this fierce little fire cracker with her defiant stance and sass that had often led us both into trouble. She was me, and I was her. “Never that,” I replied firmly. “But why were you hiding behind those boxes?”

“I was… remembering,” she whispered.

“Remembering?” I asked, though I already knew.

“Yeah, when daddy left us. He left us like they all do. Why do you always pick the ones who leave, who hurt, who break us?”

I leaned back, taken aback, watching her as she rummaged through the old boxes with fearless abandon, pulling out a dusty cassette labeled “Mix.” She held it out to me. “Here, listen to this.”

I shook my head. “No, you know those songs make me sad.”

She tilted her head knowingly. “I need you to remember how it felt when he left so you can stop reliving it over and over.”

Defeated, I took the tape, watching as she flitted among the boxes, building a fort of old memories. She gathered her stuffed animals around her, using a little glow worm toy to light her makeshift tent.

“Is this where you live?” I asked.

“Yeah!” She grinned, her eyes shining.

“Anyone else here?”

“Just the shadow man who loves you and my pretend friends.”

“You still see them?”

“Yuh-huh”

“Are you not afraid?”

Why would I be afraid? They’re family.”

I sighed. “I don’t like seeing you live like this.”

She stood in front of me, swiping at her messy hair with a tiny hand, her lopsided dimples and big brown eyes brimming with mischief. “Well… you left me here.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I got…”

“Lost,” she finished, and we both said it together, a bittersweet harmony.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Do you want to come with me?”

Her face lit up, and she whispered, “I can come with you?”

“Yes. Bring your friends too,” I said, nodding toward her plush companions.

I leaned close, placing my hands on her soft, round cheeks, brushing her hair gently back. “I’m not leaving you. I’ve got you. It’s you and me against the world, okay?”

“Prooomissseee?”

I chuckled at her familiar insistence. “I promise, Elaine.”

She leaped into my arms, squeezing me tight, and suddenly, I jolted awake, sitting up in my bed with my arms wrapped around myself. Looking around, I spotted the pile of teddy bears scattered beside me. I gathered them close, cradling their softness as I curled back under the covers and closed my eyes, holding tight to the memory.

For those who listen between the lines.
Elaine Degro