The Last Box

It was the box in the last closet emptied on the last day before everything had to be out.  Grandma had been dead for six months and nothing, thus far, had proven to be out of the ordinary. 

“What do you think is in the box?” my cousin asked. 

“Binky the cat.  The one she told us ran away,” I replied. 

She gave me ‘a look’ and then said the obvious, “It’s a pretty pink box.” 

She held it while I opened.  “It’s gorgeous!” we said in unison.  Without over thinking if I should or shouldn’t, I put it in on my head much like Napoleon grabbing the crown from the pope.  I stared at myself in the mirror - I looked pretty. 

“I wonder why she had it?” my cousin mumbled.  She’s a Gemini so it’s only natural for her to ask. 

“Didn’t she once say she was the queen of some harvest festival back in the day?”  The tiara sits very naturally on my head and I practice a royal wave to my imaginary plebs. 

“I don’t remember that?” my cousin said eyeing the bejeweled prize (which over my dead body she will ever claim as her own). 

“Thanksgiving 1996.”  I replied casually.  I know it was a Thanksgiving, but I didn’t really remember the year. 

“Harvest festival,” she huffed knowing that her moment to claim the rhinestone crown was over. 

My phone rings and I answerws it while still admiring my reflection.  I say, “yes” and then “no” and then looked at her, “I got to go.” 

“Oh, if that is the case would you mind…” 

Before she finishes, I’m already out of the room and on my way.  As I am walking out the front door I paused, Grandma took care of my brother and I every Saturday until I turned ten.  I’ll miss her home.  On impulse, I touched the tiara and smiled.  In a gesture of goodwill I said to my cousin, “Keep the box.”