The Box of Time

My sisters were arguing. Again. I laid my brother down in his crib and gave my sisters a death stare. “Watch him, please, and get over yourselves. I’m taking a quick walk. I’ll be right back. Please, just handle this for a minute,” I pleaded as I opened the back door. 

I stepped outside and breathed in the cool Alaskan air. The wind howled in the treetops, but I didn’t mind. I headed over to a different path than I usually took. As I was walking, a glimpse of something that was lighter brown than the dark trees caught my eye. It was sitting by the roots of a ginormous oak, half hidden under shrubbery. I reached down and tugged, falling back with a small box in my hands. 

The box must have been a half a foot wide by eight inches long. It had a faded gold buckle on the front, and rusty hinges on the back. The box seemed sturdy, it looked handmade but was decaying. There was a name carved into the front in large, beautifully scripted letters, and another carved on the bottom in small print. With the old-style writing it was hard to tell what the front name said. I thought I made out the first name Eve but couldn’t tell her last name. The bottom clearly said Lou Smith, in block print that looked less skilled and slightly more modern. It was definitely added after Eve’s carving. 

I sat up and grabbed the buckle to open the box. As I looked at the decomposing wood, I decided it would be better to wait. I needed to know what was inside, but it wasn’t going to happen here. I started down the trail towards home. I’d look at it there.

I found this box, hidden under some shrubs while I was taking a walk outside. The day was clear and nobody was around, so I wasn’t sure who’s it could be. But when I looked at it closer, I made out a name. Eve Powell, in a fancy script that made me wonder how a person could carve that into a box. 

The box was old, definitely older than my 16 years, although that wasn’t saying much. This box was falling apart and had obviously been touched only by nature for a long while. 

“LOU SMITH! Why are you in the woods?” It was my mother’s voice, calling from our nearby home.

Oh no, I thought to myself. The bears. Just yesterday they got into the compost and as of now they are unusually active, lurking around every corner. I couldn’t just leave the box, so I grabbed it and ran home. 

When I got to my room and opened the box carefully, I realized what it was. 

Later that day I quickly returned the box to its hiding place, after getting permission from my mother. My name was somewhat sloppily carved on the outside and a few memories with a journal entry sat on the inside in a crisp white envelope. They were set neatly next to the life stories of another. I planned to go get the box when it’s not dangerous to be outside anymore, to add more and reread Eve’s interesting life story. 

I regret hiding it every day. The next day, February 2, 1952, a fire burned my house to the ground and we moved to Canada. 

I never saw the time capsule again.

When I finally got home, I set the box on my desk. I took the buckle in my hand and shifted it back and forth. I slowly pried the box open. I peered inside as the top swung open.  

The sun shone into the bedroom I stayed in with my two younger sisters. It was hardly the crack of dawn, and thus I did not expect them to be up. As for me, I wasn’t feeling too well and needed to walk. 

Three nights ago, as I struggled to fall asleep with my sisters thrashing around, I came up with an idea. An idea that could inspire another person to follow their dreams, as I was about to follow mine. This idea would be created with the intent of instilling hope in the hearts of the people in the future. It was finally a way I could share my story. 

I was going to use my jewelry box to hold the memories. I would hide it outside along a trail somewhere around my home. Perhaps in the garden or by a tree. Somewhere that it would be concealed and yet able to be found. 

I grabbed the box and the envelope of my stories. I let myself outside. It was chilly, and the cold air nipped at my cheeks as I walked. I picked a spot a ways out to hide the capsule. Now I felt ready to leave and discover my own path. I hoped my family would understand. 

I took a step back. It was a time capsule. Inside the capsule there were two envelopes. The first envelope, with a yellowish-tint, said 1902 – Eve. I was slightly scared to touch it. The other envelope said 1952 – Lou. My heart skipped a beat at that. The year now was 2022. Inside was a note she seemed to have written to herself. It was full of questions about Eve’s letter and story.

In the rest of Lou’s envelope there were drawings. She must have been a young artist. They were beautiful, creative designs on little scraps of anything—cardboard, newspaper and even old fabric. 

Working up the courage, I sat down and opened Eve’s envelope. Inside were the memories of a person who reminded me of myself. She had lived in a very different time but understood things I couldn’t seem to say to anyone. She had gone on adventures and had run away to find love. Her life hadn’t been perfect, but she’d kept a record of things so that in another world, someone else could know that she had once lived and appreciate her life. 

Inspired by her story and blessed with a newfound sense of peace and belonging, I did what Eve and Lou had done before me; added a letter and carefully placed the box back in the woods. The only outward sign it had been discovered was the addition of a third name carved on its exterior.