The gift was sitting on the
shelf for many years.
He'd dust it off from time to time, felt better
when it sat there in plain view. It didn't need unwrapping,
thought the man, because the shape and color of the box
was quite enough. Delightful just the way it was. He couldn't bear
to tear the wrapping and enjoyed the mystery inherent to the
gift that he received but never opened.
The person who had given it, of course, was not amused.
He felt the man had taken it for granted, been ungrateful.
All the thought and cost invested, just to sit there? No.
One day he took it back and gave it to another, and the first man
didn't even notice. Surely this man, this second man, the giver
thought,would open it and cherish it for all its worth.
The second man did open it, did sigh and shake his head
with gratitude, amazement at his...luck? his blessing, what?
He didn't know the ins and out or whats or whys and did not
feel the need to, but he loved the gift so much that he would take it
from its box and hold it up to let it catch the light, throw
prisms, rainbows on the humdrum walls of his existence, then
replace it in its box. It would look so lovely on his desk,
he thought, or on the chest of drawers within his room but
he was paralyzed with fear, lest someone see it, take it,
smash it out of anger towards him.
The giver of the gift was still unsatisfied, but gave him space
and time until he realized the value of the gift, the way it would
enhance his life once placed there in the open, once he celebrated
all it meant, once he threw away its box.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2020
