THE LITTLE BLACK BOX

When I was a little girl we lived
on a farm. Hobos would sometimes stop
at our house to beg for food. One time one of these men
gave me a gift when he had finished eating
some food my mother had given him. He opened
a big black bag that he carried on his back
when he walked on the roads. He reached in the bag and
took out a lovely black metal box with gold flowers
painted around it. I felt so special,
because I was the only one in the family
to be given a gift. Soon after, he left by way
of the back door. My mother said she would keep
the box for me and she put it away somewhere.

As the weeks went by, I would
ask my mother if I could play with my little black
box and always she would say, "No, I am taking
care of it for you." Over the years, I would
occasionally ask if I could play with it,
and she would still say, "No, I am keeping it in
a safe place for you."

One day when my parents were in town
and my sisters and brothers were outside playing,
I decided I would look for my little black box.
Not finding it hidden in what I thought
to be the usual hiding places,
like her dresser drawers, I decided I would look
under the corner of the mattress at the foot of her bed.
There it was! Quickly, I looked inside and
there I saw a lot of money! My mom and dad were
using my little box for their bank. At last,
I understood why they needed to keep my box.
As I stood there staring at the little black box,
I noticed that some of the gold and black paint
had worn off. I knew they had so often opened it
to put some money inside, then opened it again
later to take money out to take care of all of us.
It didn't look like the little black box with
the gold flowers on it that I remembered.
It wasn't 'my' little black box anymore,
and I never asked to play with it again.

Some years later after I was grown up
and married I was visiting my mom and dad.
My mother told me I could have my little black box
and take it home with me. I told her "No",
that I didn't want it anymore.
I never did see it again.