2EmLee2

The Music Box and the Army Man

A lilting tune drifted through the shop.

The ballerina balanced on one foot, forever spinning as the music slowed. A lonely ray of afternoon sun filtered through the thick, sparkling clouds of dust and ash, making the intricate details of the music box shine like a child’s dream. Her porcelain face was not in a beaming smile as you would have thought, but twisted in somber anguish.

A figurine clad in green stood next to the frail dancer, his expression matching her own. One of his hands was loosely gripping a rifle, the other reaching out in the direction of the music, as if he was trying to hold onto a memory as it slipped between his fingers.

The tinkling of a bell sounded as someone walked through the door, but no one came close to the back shelves of things forgotten by time itself.

The music stopped.

Twenty-one years prior~

The girl had a crush. He was the fastest runner in the class and had a smile that outshone his dirty golden hair.

The boy had a crush. She was the prettiest girl in the class and always managed to find the wildflowers among the weeds in the schoolyard.

Oft, they would walk home from school together, until he had to turn down one way and she the other.

He would go home to his tiny house with a tiny picket fence and a mother too busy with three other children to help him with his arithmetic. (He could figure it out himself, though. He was already learning his divisions when the whole class was still on multiplication.) His father was off “fighting for our country”, as his mom often said, but it didn't make sense, seeing as his mom became angry whenever he fought with his siblings.

She would go to her grand house with a grand driveway that took forever to walk up, but was very fun to sled down when snow started to fall. Her momma was never busy as they had a maid to do the chores. Her papa was the boss of a big business and bought her a pair of dance shoes for her sixth birthday last month. She was going to start ballet classes soon.

They would often go flower-picking together. Behind the schoolhouse were wide expanses of tall, green grass, lush from the spring drizzles. Spots of white, red, yellow, and pink would dot the plain, marking where the wildflowers would grow in abundance. She would create intricate bouquets of daffodils, poppies, and forget-me-nots. He would find the dandelions that would scatter magical white swirls of seeds.

One autumn day, just before the wilting, the boy found a lone dandelion puff. He gifted it to the girl, who gladly blew on it. Closing her eyes, she wished a wish to whoever may hear it.

Now, it might be worth noting that wishes are special—one might even say magical. A person can be defined by what they wish for. When a person doesn’t have that thing, they become nothing; when they have no wish, they can’t be something.

Now the girl didn’t wish for fancy dresses, a new puppy, or a role in the ballet. While the late-blooming seeds of that fateful flower danced away through the music of the wind, she wished for the boy. She wished they would always be together, for she couldn’t imagine what life could be like without him.

Meanwhile, the boy watched the girl gently blow on the dandelion, and he tried to imagine what she could possibly want. She seemed to already have everything. He knew that if he was the one to make the wish, he would wish for the girl. He could not imagine a life without her.

A shimmering ripple of colored light toyed with the dandelion seeds, turning them every color of the rainbow for a fraction of a second, almost imperceptible. Then, as fast as it was there, it was gone. The sun shone a little bit brighter, the air seemed a little bit warmer, and the boy and the girl smiled. They could tell something extraordinary had just happened.

The boy’s tenth birthday was coming up. His mother promised him that she would do what she could, but she likely could not afford many presents this year. It was alright, though, because what he wanted most for his birthday was to spend time with the girl. On his birthday, he tried every opportunity he could to sneak out of the house. However, something stopped him every time, whether that was a family stroll around the park or him needing to watch his siblings (even though it was his birthday). As the hour grew late, the boy started to lose hope that he could see the girl. After dinner, his mother pulled out the freshly frosted chocolate birthday cake. As he blew out the candles, he made a wish.

Meanwhile, the girl’s father was quite confused about why the girl wanted so badly to donate her old toys to a charity case in her school class. She didn’t call him a charity case, but that’s how he saw the situation. It was the girl’s momma who took pity. She lovingly agreed to let her wonderful daughter be a saintly little thing and be so generous as to give away so much of her old stuff.

Once permission was gained through her quite cleverly timed puppy eyes and adorable pleading, she gathered the gifts into the buggy, and they were off.

Right as the boy blew out the candles, he heard a knock at the door. His mother rushed to open it. A few moments later, she hustled back to usher the children to the living room. Two snotty-looking adult people were seated primly on their old couch. In between them was the girl. The boy beamed. The girl beamed right back. In front of them was a mountain of toys, far more exquisite than any of those children had ever seen other than in the windows of the nice toy stores. The girl’s father explained - rather begrudgingly - that his daughter wanted to do some charity work and decided the best way about this was to give away some of her very nice things (he emphasized this in hopes she would change her mind and take it all back. Poor people couldn’t appreciate the expensive workmanship of some of these items.) Meanwhile, the girl’s mother was gushing about how her daughter is a glorious little angel for being willing to give up so much, even her rare, exquisite freshwater pearl bracelet she had gotten for her fifth birthday, which was likely the price of a small house! The boy’s mother sat there, her face looking like the dictionary definition of shocked, thinking it must be just a prank. Even one of these toys could pay for a month’s rent, plus some. The boy realized this, too, and grinned even wider. This was the best birthday gift ever.

One day, the girl wandered around her garden, absentmindedly thinking about some new dance step she learned, and stumbled across her old treehouse, which her parents had commissioned for her when she was three. As she scaled the ladder, old memories flooded her mind. Having tea parties with dolls and stuffed animals. Reading among piles of pillows. Sitting at the window, watching the gardeners prune and pluck at the expansive rose bushes. One common thread connected all these: she was lonely. She would give anything to enjoy a day in the treehouse with the boy.

When she went to her parents to ask if she could have a friend over to spend a day in the treehouse, her dad’s blood seemed to churn, and her mom looked on the verge of fainting. Of course she couldn’t have a friend over, especially one of the male variety. It would bring dishonor to their good name. She was twelve years old, practically a young lady. It was improper for one of her maturity to even be seen in a treehouse. She must be forbidden from going there anymore!

Crushed, the girl gracefully walked out of the sitting room with the poise of the young lady her parents expected her to have. As soon as she was out of sight, however, she ran up the stairs to her room and flopped on her bed in a very unladylike fashion. 

Meanwhile, the boy was sitting in his backyard, half-buried in dirt, with his little siblings running around trying to make him fully buried in dirt. His backyard wasn’t big, but it was a wonderland to his siblings- it was to him when he was their age. In one corner was an old treehouse, if you could even call it that. It was really more like a few wooden boards placed among the branches to create a little ledge. To the children, it served as a castle, pirate ship, dragon’s lair, house, or anything else imagination could conjure up. They were always fighting about who got the treehouse this time, normally ending in someone in tears and someone else triumphant, perched seven feet in the air. The boy, while having dirt dumped on his face, daydreamed about sitting in the treehouse, alone, with peace and quiet. Actually, no, not alone; with the girl. They could chat for hours up there. It could be so magical. It was an unrealistic dream, however. Alone time was impossible in a house like this.

When the boy turned fourteen, he got a job as a newspaper deliverer. She would wait outside her doorstep every morning to collect the paper, watching as he pedaled on his rickety bike up her long driveway. She would tell him about all the latest updates, as this was the only time they saw each other now that she had private tutors and hours of dance rehearsal. He would never stay too long, though, lest her papa found out she fancied one as lowly as he. The boy requested that his route always pass through her neighborhood, saying it was because he enjoyed riding through the tall trees. His boss was fine with that because no one else wanted to go that way- it was longer than other routes.

One day, as the boy was biking along the road, a glint caught his eye. He slowed to see a shiny pebble of pink quartz among the gravel. He remembered what his mom had told him when he was a small child:  To find anything on the side of the road is luck; to give it away is to grant a wish.

He pocketed the small pink rock and kept riding.

That night, the girl held that same rock close to her heart as she drifted off to sleep. The boy could have given her mountains of rubies and gold, but this small rock felt even more special.

One warm night fell upon the girl and the boy when they were around sixteen years of age. The stars beamed brightly over the pavilion filled with music, laughter, and the movement of dance. It was the event of the summer. All the teenagers from the town were there; some, like the girl, had been begging their parents to go for weeks, only to receive approval a few hours prior. Others, like the boy, were dragged there by their friends, acting reluctant, but secretly hoping a certain someone would be there.

For the boy, his certain someone was indeed there. He saw the familiar glimmer of her golden hair through the shifting form of the crowd. She, herself, scanned the masses for her certain boy, not finding him until he tapped her on the shoulder. The smiles on their faces could have melted the coldest of hearts as they locked eyes. The band started to play a slow, romantic song, and they danced- talking, laughing, and smiling. Their friends smirked at them, but they didn’t notice. Eventually, when the music became too loud, they decided to stroll around the park where the pavilion was. It was quieter, calmer. The boy looked at the girl, wearing her pretty dress with flutter sleeves. She seemed cold. He offered her his suit jacket, and she accepted with a smile that kept him warmer than any jacket could. They sat on the grass, conversation coming easily, as if they had known each other for a hundred years. The crickets and mild hum of the music faded away before the voices of these two souls who were very much in love. As they stared at the glittering sky, a very special thing happened. Shooting stars are said to only be seen by those the universe deemed worthy of a wish, and the boy and the girl were among those few. The girl gasped and the boy marveled. They each wished that this wouldn’t be the only night like this they could share, for it was perfect. They wished this could never end.

Unfortunately, even wishing upon a shooting star can’t change time. The night did eventually grow late. As the party ended, the boy and the girl walked together down the road, past their old schoolhouse, and to the fork that always split their journeys. Under the loving gaze of the moon, they refused to separate, wanting to spend as much time as is physically possible with each other.

There, at the crossroads, the boy and the girl embraced, finding that she fit perfectly between his arms.

The boy looked at the old picture of his dad in an army uniform. He had died in the war. Before he died, he had sent a letter to the boy, telling him everything he thought his son would need to know. Among the bits of advice and wisdom was a request: to keep the family safe. After all, the boy was the man of the house now. The boy sat and thought. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. He’d never really gotten an opportunity to think about the future, between school and taking on odd jobs to help his mother keep their little family afloat. It was getting harder every day to afford even basic necessities. At least back when his dad was alive, the military sent them money. Maybe he could enlist. He wanted to keep his family safe, too. And the girl. The thought of the girl dying from the brutalities of war was unbearable. If he enlisted, he could do what he could to keep her and his family safe. He had to do it. He was going to do it. He loved her too much not to.

The girl looked at the letter, written in thoughtful handwriting on cheap paper. He was leaving her. He said it was to protect her, but she didn’t need protection; she needed him. She couldn’t believe he would do this to her. The one thing that made her happy and made her life worth living was going to leave her alone. She hated being alone. She’s been alone her entire life, stuck up in “high society” with prims and prunes who plastered fake smiles and gave shallow compliments. He never gave shallow compliments. He actually cared for her, and he was leaving. She was turning eighteen. If he left, her parents would marry her off to the highest bidder. If he were gone, she wouldn’t have a reason to object. He was leaving and her life was ruined.

The war was long. It never seemed to stop. Gunshots, screams of dying men, the rhythmic pounding of booted feet, the whir and buzz of mutilating machinery. Suddenly, the sounds changed. Muted voices, frantically trying to do… something. He couldn’t think. Why couldn’t he think? The world was blurry and distorted. Trying to make sense of it was painful. It was better to sleep.

The girl, now a woman, cried. The ring on her finger felt like a noose. Two long years she had flitted among the richest and wealthiest, empty. She didn’t want to get married. The idea itself felt like a betrayal. So the girl cried, chained by a small metal band around her finger.

The boy was in and out of consciousness. When he first opened his eyes, people in white aprons splattered with red leered over him. They tried to speak, but all he heard was a distant garbling, so he returned to the calming abyss of darkness. The second time he woke, the voices were clearer. Slowly, he came to reality. A man spoke slowly and clearly to him. Apparently, he had tried to save a comrade in arms, taking the bullet for himself. It had gone through his shoulder and grazed an artery. He had no memory of this event. They patched him up as best they could, but he had lost a lot of blood. The risk of some confusing medical thing was a great one. That was just about all his mind could handle, so he nodded and went back to sleep.

The wedding was in a week. She sat alone, waiting for a caller, on a stiff couch. A newspaper sat on the low table. The headline: Local boy becomes war hero, but at what cost? Local boy? That couldn’t be. She picked up the paper, looking around to ensure no one was coming. She scanned the text, looking for a name.

It was him. His name seemed to burn a hole in the paper, becoming the only thing she could see. Her breathing quickened and her eyes burned. A knock sounded at the door to the sitting room. Her butler announced the caller, an acquaintance here to drop off an early wedding gift, for she couldn’t make it to the ceremony itself. The girl could barely keep her composure. Luckily, the caller was gone swiftly. Left to herself, she snatched the newspaper and snuck out into the gardens, weaving her way through bushes and trees till she reached the road. She needed to find him. The newspaper told her they sent him to the local hospital. She must have been a sight, in her fancy dress and delicate lace gloves with no chaperone and a look on her face that hopefully told people, “get out of my way or you’ll regret your life choices.” The walk to the hospital would have taken thirty minutes, but she made it fifteen. Bursting through the doors, she startled the people in the waiting room. The nurse at the front desk tried to tell her that visiting hours hadn’t started yet, but she swiftly changed her mind when she saw the newspaper clutched in a hand with an engagement ring.

She was led through halls that seemed a maze, hearing the occasional cough or pain-filled groan. At last, she reached a wide open room - probably previously a cafeteria - lined with cots separated by sheets to accommodate the influx of wounded due to the war. When the nurse reached the boy’s spot, she moved the curtain aside, ushering her in.

The boy tried to ignore the sounds and feelings of the world. He could tell he was dying. It would be better to stay numb and slip into the abyss than to feel the pain and die anyway.

Until he heard a voice.

It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

The girl looked at the boy. Blood stained the thick bandages around his shoulder. His face had changed over the past two years, but he was still the boy she knew and loved. She knelt at his side, clutching his non-injured hand, whispering for him to wake up.

His eyes fluttered open, locking with hers. He looked at her for the first time in two years. She looked older, more tired. There was a maturity there that wasn’t before, but her eyes were the same. They shone with tears. He tried to reach up to wipe them away, but that caused a bolt of pain to flash through his shoulder. The pain was so severe that it almost dragged him back into his coma-like sleep.

He was dying. She looked at the pained image of his face. He was dying, and she was going to get married next week and have to forget about him and pretend like he never happened- like they never happened. This couldn’t happen.

“You can’t leave me.”

The air stilled and shimmered. The world took notice of events like these.

A person can be defined by what they wish for. When a person doesn’t have that thing, they become nothing; when they have no wish, they can’t be something.

This girl wished with such passion, such fervor, that she couldn’t not get what she wished for.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

The boy, pushing through the pain, tried to savor this moment, for he could tell he likely wouldn’t have many more. He wished she would stay here, with him, forever. He couldn’t bear the thought of them ever separating.

***

The air returned from stillness to the hustle and bustle of a hospital. The nurse came to check on the frantic young visitor, but she had vanished.

As had the patient.

That was odd.

The staff was alerted, but they were nowhere to be seen. All they found in the soldier’s little cot was a tiny green toy soldier and a dainty music box with a porcelain ballerina inside.

After a day, then a week, then a month of no sign of the two lovers, the nurse decided to give the two toys to a local thrift shop. For some reason, the thought of separating them seemed completely out of the question.

***

A lilting tune drifted through the shop.

The ballerina balanced on one foot, forever spinning as the music slowed. A lonely ray of afternoon sun filtered through the thick, sparkling clouds of dust and ash, making the intricate details of the music box shine like a child’s dream. Her porcelain face was not in a beaming smile as you would have thought, but twisted in somber anguish.

A figurine clad in green stood next to the frail dancer, his expression matching her own. One of his hands was loosely gripping a rifle, the other reaching out in the direction of the music, as if he was trying to hold onto a memory as it slipped between his fingers.

The tinkling of a bell sounded as someone walked through the door, but no one came close to the back shelves of things forgotten by time itself.

The boy and the girl, together.

Forever.

They got what they wished for, hadn’t they?

The music stopped.