Chapter 2 The Box

​There is only one word that best describes my life - "tragic". Up until I was 10, everything was normal and happy. Then people I loved or loved me started dying around me. Of course I did not have anything to do with their deaths but according to the obituaries, I was the surviving family member.

It all started with the death of my father eight years ago. Frances Reynolds, Frank to his friends, was a big, burly man. The size of him was daunting. He looked like a frightening giant but his heart was pure and loving. He was Irish through and through, from the light reddish hair to the fair skin and blue eyes. He managed an oil rig team. He had a booming loud voice that was alarming to his employees but he was always soft and gentle with his family. He went to sleep one night and never woke up. We later found out he had a congenital heart defect – a "ticking time bomb" as the doctor described it. It broke my mother's heart. He was only 44 years old. I can remember his funeral so many people were there. They all said the same things. I guess death makes people say the same thing to save them from saying the wrong thing.

My mother, Mary Reynolds, discovered she had breast cancer exactly one year after my father died. I can remember the day she found the lump in her left breast. She was trying on bras and was adjusting her breast. The doctors told her it was small and surgery would be the first course of treatment. She was a beautiful woman. She had strawberry blond hair and light blue eyes. Her skin was fair and with some freckling on her arms and face. She was strong and stubborn. After surgery she told me things were going to be fine and I had nothing to worry about. We moved from Bismarck to Crew, Indiana to be closer to my father's brother, Josh Reynolds. A few months after we got settled in Crew, she found another lump but this one was under her armpit. The doctors told her the cancer had come back and it was now in her lymphatic system. She had to undergo chemotherapy. One day, she collapsed in the kitchen floor while I was at school and laid there for hours. I found her unconscious. She battled cancer for two years but as stubborn as she was, she could not beat it. When it spread to her brain, she was no longer my mother. She died just before my 14th birthday.

At 14 years old, I went to live with my Uncle Josh Reynolds. He was a professional race car driver. Uncle Josh was a very handsome man. He was 43 years old. His features were very similar to my dad but he was muscular and lean. He was confident and always walked with a proud arrogant sway. He had a lot of girlfriends but he was always careful who he brought home because of me. He never married anyone of his girlfriends. He told me he was looking for someone who looked and acted like me, and so far none of them came close. The women he was seen with were always exceptionally beautiful with blond hair and super model type bodies envied by millions. I never worried that he would be swept off his feet by any of them. I just brushed them off and I think he was content and happy being a bachelor.

His personality was very close to mine, which made our relationship more special. He wasn't exactly a parent and I wasn't a typical erratic teenager. Though it was hard for me losing both parents, I knew it was harder on him to raise a teenager. I learned to grow up fast; last thing I wanted was to be a burden on him. Life with him was very easy. Because he was a professional car driver, people at school thought he was so cool, which made things easier for me. He had started out as a mechanic for NASCAR and eventually started racing when he was 24 years old. I was very proud of him. We were both very private people. He understood that of me and I never interfered with his privacy.

In many ways he was the biggest influence in my life. He was there when I started my teenager years. He was there when I needed to talk about sex, my menstrual period and even love. Most importantly, he was the person who taught me to drive and drive fast. I spent so much time watching him at the racetrack that I started driving earlier than any other teenager. Illegally of course. I was only allowed to drive on his property. Lucky for me he had 150 acres of terrain. There I could race around heavily wooded areas and country grounds without any fear of killing anyone or getting caught. We had a common love for speed. While his love was for race cars, mine was for motorcycles. Not just any motorcycles but Ducati.

On my 18th birthday, he gave me a used 2007 Ducati Monster S4R Testastretta. He considered it to be my "liberation" gift. It was silver, with red and black trim. With a 998cc V-Twin 130Hp, I drove it wildly. He knew that I would drive this way because he really never taught me how to drive slowly. A lot of what he taught me was more like defensive driving than normal driving. Giving me this type of bike was a confirmation of the type of driving he taught me. This is one of those bikes you have to drive fast to appreciates its torque and power. Driving something this beautiful slow was considered to be criminal in my eyes. At 80mph, the atmosphere around you disappears and you are in a tunnel of your own world. Time ceases to exist and no one can enter your space. This was my happy place.

The other significant thing that happened to me on my 18th birthday was the reading of my late parents' will. Up until now it wasn't necessary to deal with their estate. Uncle Josh took care of all my needs. Mr. Thomas Gaffney, my parents' attorney, made sure things were in order. This was the last thing that I had to deal with. Being their only child, I was left with all their worldly possessions and a key to a safe deposit box.

"What is this key for?" I questioned.

"Gena, it is a safety deposit key from Wellington Bank. We don't honestly know what is in the safety deposit box but we can make arrangements for you to go and look. Would you like to do that now?" He asked.

"Sure" I hesitated. I really didn't care what was in the box. I assumed it was something my mother left for me, like maybe her personal jewelry or something like that. But Uncle Josh reminded me it would be good for closure- lets' get it done and over with. The safety deposit number was 628, which I assumed represented my birth date. As I waited for the bank teller to find the key to match my key, I suddenly felt a rush of excitement. Maybe it was video recording of them telling me what they want me to be. Giving me some direction. I was eighteen and about to enter my senior year but I had no clue what I wanted or needed.

"Place your key here, Ms. Randolph." the teller instructed.

After both keys turned, she slowly pulled the long metal box from the wall and placed it on the table in the private showing room.

"Take as much time as you need to, just call me when your done." she informed.

"Thanks" I said silently. When the teller was gone from the room, I lifted the lid from the safety deposit box. Inside I found another box. It was some sort of jewelry box- a rather large jewelry box. Slightly disappointed, I pulled the jeweled box from the safety deposit box. I did not want jewelry, secretly I wanted something touched or made by them- a personal letter or something like that addressed to just me. The jewelry box was a simple silver box with a single dark blue gemstone at each corner. In the middle of the lid was a clear square space, roughly the size of a postage stamp. I inspected the box all the way around and could not find a key hole or lift handle. I checked the safety deposit box to see if there were instructions or another key for this box, but nothing. I could hear that there was something inside the box when I shook it but there was no way in. Great, now I have a fancy jewelry box that I can't open. Disappointed, I took the jeweled box and left the bank. On the ride home, I raised the box up towards the sun for a closer inspection. Against the sun, the box was exquisitely beautiful. The four blue stone jewels at each corner of the lid were round and the size of my thumbprint. There was no engraving or intricate detailing in the metal.

"What's inside?" asked Uncle Josh

"I don't know I can't open it." I informed him.

"Was there no key for it?" he asked.

"I don't see a keyhole but there wasn't a key with it." I replied flatly.

"What's wrong, are you disappointed?" he asked.

"Well it really doesn't matter, I just thought maybe they left me some sort of personal letter or video to tell me about what they wanted for my life, you know like when someone knows they're dying, so they leave some sort of personal memoire or guide." I said sadly.

"Hey, kiddo, I think they just want you to be happy." With a slight devilish look he finished "If you want, I can pry open that box for you but I might end up destroying it." he responded.

I chuckled. "No, that's okay. I'll figure out how to open this thing eventually." I said.

We rode the rest of the way home in silence. I liked that about Uncle Josh, he never pry. He always allowed people to think and sort things out for themselves then when they're ready to talk he listens. That's why we were so compatible. When we got home, I immediately went to my room with my jewelry box. I placed the jewelry box on my desk and took one last good look at it. Yep, definitely no keyhole.

The phone ranged jolting to from my chair. I answered the phone on the third ring.

"Hello."

"Hey babe, how did it go?"

"Hi Peter, it was ok. I got a box." I said flatly.

"A box? What kind of box?" he questioned.

"I think it's a jewelry box." I said

"Well what's in it? Can I come over?" he asked.

He didn't really sound so interested in the contents of the box, but he wanted to come over so I offered "Sure, do you want me to pick you up?"

"No, I can use my mom's car. Be there in a bit." he stated.

I have been dating Peter since April. We were good friends through out our junior year but as the friendship grew so did the relationship. Over the summer our relationship evolved into something more serious and loving. I still see him more as a friend than a boyfriend but maybe this was the natural order of love. He was very easy to like and maybe eventually love. Everyone thought we were so well suited for each other. We never fought, we knew each other's like and dislikes. Peter was the high school football player and I was his happy, sweet girlfriend. All of his friends were my friends. He was much more social than I was. We even looked good together. He was 6'3 with short blond hair, with dark blue eyes; his body was lean but strong, muscular. I was 5'7 with long wavy brown hair, rather small in the breast area but since everything else was small it really didn't make such a horrible figure. As his eyes were blue, mines were brown matching my hair. My looks were simple, no real beautiful traits but to my uncle and Peter, I was beautiful. Of course they're biased. I thought my nose and lips were too small. It seemed like everyone around me had blue or green eyes but I had plain brown eyes. I've always had some complaints about myself but Peter's only complaint about me was that he did not like the way I drive. He doesn't like my non-compliance to the speed limit.

The loud rumbling of the SUV up the driveway could be heard from my bedroom. Peter's mother was a tiny woman but she liked big cars- it makes me feel safe she would often say or maybe it was because Uncle Josh's house was so rural that you can hear anything coming. You can hear Peter coming into the house and talking football with Uncle Josh. After they got the basic questions and answers over with, he raced up the stairs.

"Knock, Knock, can I come in?" he said cheerfully.

He peaked around the door and winked at me. You can see why he is so easy to love. He just has this charm about him. He was also very patient with me. Many times I could see he wanted more of me but because we were friends, he never pressured me to do anything I didn't want to do. He entered the room and crossed over to my bed. He sat on the floor next to my bed. I sat up from the bed and slid down next to him on the floor.

"Hey, you look cheerful, how did your day go?" I asked.

"Busy but manageable, enough about me. Are you okay, you sounded so sad on the phone?" he questioned

"Yeah, it's just old stuff coming back up. I'm alright. Sorry I couldn't make it back earlier. Do you want to see what I got?" But of course I was talking about the motorcycle; he however was looking at the jewelry box.

He grinned at me. "Wow this is really pretty, what's inside?" he wondered.

Rather annoyed I responded "I don't really know, I can't open it, there's no key or keyhole. There must be some sort of secret button or whatever, I just haven't bothered." I said nonchalantly.

"Well that's weird, the lawyer people didn't tell you how to open it?" he questioned.

"No, they didn't even know about. It was kept in a safety deposit box and the key was left to me, now do you want to see my real birthday present?" I said excitedly.

"I saw it outside; I really don't like the idea that you have something that can go up to 120mph. What was your uncle thinking? Has he ever seen you drive?" he said jokingly.

"He is a professional race car driver you know, I don't think he can really teach me how to drive slowly. Oh and by the way, I do have a license to drive it, someone signed off on that." I said courtly.

"Yeah, but you were driving on your best behavior, we both know that is not how you normally drive." he corrected me.

"Oh you're just jealous that I was taught by one of the best race car driver and you were taught by your grandmother." I said jokingly.

I was really referring to his mother and he knew that. She drove like a grandmother. She sat so close to the steering wheel that there really was no room for the air bag to deploy. She made driving look like some sort of painful exercise. It is just painful to watch the difference between Uncle Josh's driving posture and Peter's mom. Peter wasn't that far off. I silently smiled at the thought.

"Hey, before I forget, I have to tell you I won't be here this week. My mom wants me to go to Gainesville, Florida to see this knee specialist. Just the usual stuff nothing too big." he stated.

I looked up at him, surprised. "Why do you have to go all the way to Gainesville, Florida to have your knee checked? Can't you see someone here?" I worried.

"Well, if I want any kind of career in football, my knees have to be seen by someone who specializes in football players' knees not just any regular Ortho. I'll be gone for just one week. Now, listen I have a present for you too but it doesn't compare next to your Ducati so do you want to see it." he said excitedly.

"You know you didn't have to get me anything," embarrassed by the frown from his face I quickly stated "but since you did, yes I want to see it." I said happily

.

"Ok, so give me your hand." he commanded.

As I complied he placed a small white box in my hand. I hesitated for a minute thinking about all the boxes I'd gotten today. Slowly I lifted the top cover of the box and inside there was a key ring that had the red shield symbol of the Ducati motorcycle company.

"Beautiful, just perfect, thanks Peter." I whispered. I gave him a warm hug and held him there. He pulled back and gazed at me. His dark blue eyes moved over my face then to my lips. He slowly bent his head towards mine. His kiss started off gently and soft. He placed his hand in the arch of my neck and pulled me tighter against his lips. The pressure of his lips increased steadily. He became hungrier and more impatient. He leaned forward pushing me back onto the floor. His hands came over my waist, pinning me down. As his lips slid down to my neck, I could feel his hands moving under my shirt. When his hand touched my breast I became tensed and rigid. The moment he felt me tensed up against him, he slowly pulled his hand back and sat back.

"Sorry, I got a little carried away." he whispered as he tried to control his breathing.

I waited for him to collect himself before I moved away. We were both panting from what just happened. He placed his hands over his face and through his hair. I can tell he was fighting his frustrations. He sat there quietly. It was an uncomfortable silence. I wish I could feel strongly for him like he does for me but it wasn't there. I was dragging him around because of my indecisiveness. I wanted so badly to give him all of me but I knew he wasn't the one I wanted to be my first. I loved him but not enough to make love to him. It was such a guilty feeling of despair.

"Peter, I'm sorry. I'm just not ready for that. It's not you it's me. Please just try to understand." I pleaded.

I waited for him to respond but he just sat there. I can tell he felt bad for his actions but he was probably frustrated too. Above all else we were good friends, and this just felt so awkward. We wanted things to happen slowly and cautiously. We were afraid that if things went sour we would loose much more. We were both aware of the same fear.

"I'm sorry for pressuring you. It's just you're driving me crazy. Don't you want me at all, because I want you so badly? It hurts for me to even think about it. I think of you constantly. I dream of you when I'm not thinking about you. It's like you want me but then when things start to get more serious you panic. Don't you want to be with me?" he pleaded.

"Peter you're everything that a girl could ever want, it is just I am not ready. Please understand." I begged.

I waited for him to say something but he just stared at the ceiling. Gently he stood up pulling me along with him. His arms wrapped itself around my waist and he whispered into my ears "Happy Birthday, Gena." Without letting me go he continued "Okay, I have to get home to pack but I'll see you when I get back. Do me a favor, drive carefully when I'm away." He softly placed his hands around me face and touched his lips to mine. "I going to miss you a lot." he said gently.

"Okay, will you call me when you get there?" I asked. I kept him in my embrace while I looked into his eyes. His eyes did not meet mine. Instead he hugged me tighter. I couldn't pinpoint the difference in his actions tonight but something was not right. He was saying that he'll be back but it seems like he was also saying goodbye for the last time. I was going to have to make a decision about our relationship when he gets back. I don't know what I was waiting for but what if I am making a mistake. Maybe he is the one for me and I'm just too stupid to see it. If I keep making him wait will he eventually just give up and I lose a great guy. Now I am frustrated.

When he left, I turned my attention back to the jewelry box. I looked at it more closely this time. The clear space in the middle of the lid looked like some sort of fingerprint pad, so curiously I placed my index finger over the clear space, secretly hoping that the box would somehow scan the fingerprint and "click" it would automatically open. But nothing happened. Disappointed and frustrated, I left the box there on the desk.

How ironic that I am staring at another box now.

This was the fourth funeral I've attended in my 18 years of life. If there was a curse upon people, I was it. Just weeks ago I was beginning to wonder about whether my life was just bad luck or that I was a curse. Now, this pretty much confirms that I am a curse. I stand here in front of the casket, uncomprehending what has happened in the past twenty days that has me in this unspeakable nightmare. Can some one please wake me up? I can't seem to grasp at reality anymore. Is this real or am I just having a bad nightmare?

Peter left for Gainesville, Florida on June 29 with his mother and never returned to Crew, Indiana. He did not call me when he got there like he was supposed to. I knew something was wrong when his father kept saying "I'll let Peter explain when he comes home." For two days, I selfishly thought that he had met someone in Florida and was stalling me. I was angry by his betrayal. For a time, I felt regret for what happened between us the last time he was with me. If maybe I given him what he wanted he wouldn't have had to find someone else? I thought for sure he was tired of waiting for me. Never in a million years did I think he was dying.

He wasn't in Florida to have his knees checked. He was getting experimental treatment for his type of Leukemia. During one of the treatments, he developed some sort of adverse reaction to the drug and his body's immune system shut down completely. He was immediately placed on High Risk Neutropenic Isolation; which basically meant that he could not be exposed to any kind of germs or bacteria because his body could not defend itself. He was not allowed any visitors, not even family. By the time I was told of his predicament, I was already too angry and hurt to grasp the full extend of his disease. When I realized that he was in serious trouble, I tried hopelessly to talk to him. The guilt I felt would haunt me, and I think he knew that, yet he left me out in the dark anyway. He wanted it that way. He did not want me to know what was happening to him or see him in his sick state. Any communication with Peter was through third parties. On July 9th, I received a note from Peter written on a prescription note paper:

"I am so sorry. I have always loved you."

The note was supposed to give me some sort of release from the punishment he was inflicting on me. I read those words over and over. Sometimes I read them as forgiving and sometimes they were punishing. I begged to see him. I pleaded with his parents but they were unyielding. They said he refused. He denied me access to him. He banned me from being near him or see him or hold him. He refused to talk to me; he wouldn't let me respond to his note. I was so angry. I never got to respond to his note with my own words. He would not allow the nurses to take my calls or any notes. I wrote so many letters but they were returned to me unopened. I wanted to tell him everything that I have been holding back due to fear. He was punishing me. He wanted the last words. All that didn't matter now. He died nine days later on July 18th, all alone. When he died, no one was allowed near him. His mother was allowed to talk to him but through plastic mask, gloves, and gowns. He was gone. I had to accept defeat. At the end he had won. His funeral was attended by so many people. A lot of his friends were crying. I watched everyone around me crying and comforting one another. I sat there cold, not knowing how to act. My Uncle Josh was holding me but I could not feel his arms. I was numb. It was so sudden. The pain was there. The loss was there but I could not cry. I watched his parents sobbing profusely but I just sat across from his casket in dismay.

How did this happen?

What went wrong?

Modern medicine doesn't allow something like this to happen. People don't die this quickly. My mother had cancer and she battled for 3 years before she died. I was numb. It felt like some sort of Post Traumatic Stress disorder. I walked around not feeling anything. Uncle Josh was there for me but it was not the same. Some of our friends came over but I did not want to talk to them. I sent everyone away. Every one of them reminded me of him. I lay in bed all night long waiting for Peter to call me and tell me of his busy day. It felt like any minute he would call and say "What's up babe. Miss me?" but that call never came. He was gone. I never cried for Peter. He did not want me at the end. His rejection of me was seen more as a punishment than protection. Uncle Josh told me he did it to protect me. He did not want me holding on to false hope. He did not want me to grieve him. He did not want me to have memories of him sick and dying, only good ones. He knew if I was there I would remember him sick not healthy so selfishly he denied me the memory. But Peter was wrong. The fact that he rejected my love for him at the end was far worst than any of his attempts at protecting me. I was his friend before I was his girlfriend. Would that have made a difference? The irony was that I would've given anything to have that last night back. I would have given him my love to change the outcome. Did he know then that he was not coming back? Was that his way of testing me? Was that his last attempt at finding love with me? These questions would go unanswered for the rest of my life.

Uncle Josh was really good at trying to keep me from going into despair. He took me with him to the races just so he could keep an eye on me. He tried to comfort me with stories of his losses but it wasn't even comparable because I didn't know those people. He even let me drink some wine one night. Everywhere he had to go, I was dragged along. He was winning in the ratings but he could not celebrate around me. I knew this was hard on him. He thought he could protect me from another loss. Many times he would remind me that the losses were just a part of life and I could not blame myself. He spent more time with me than with his cheerful road crew. He made sure there was always someone with me. He did not want to leave me alone while he was racing. I was babysat by his rode crew. I was not suicidal or catatonic but I was not myself and he felt guilty for not being able to stay home with me to help me go though the loss. Many times he would catch me staring out in the open and he would pull me back with some ridiculous assignment. He even banned me from my bike until he thought I wasn't going to do something stupid. I spent a lot of time thinking about what Peter wanted from me and why I could not give it to him. It didn't help that there was a lot of people named Peter, so when I hear it being called I would turn to look for him.

On August 4th, we arrived home from one of the longest road trips. I was happy to be back in my own room again. The answer machine was full of people calling to check up on me. I erased them all without listening to them. I wanted to suffer alone. I have never been one of those group discussion types of people. I hated to be around people trying to solve other people's problems. I had to do this on my own. I loved Peter but he was gone. No amount of wishing could get him back. That was the first step in the healing process. Acceptance.

His mother had dropped off things that he asked her to give to me. At first I wasn't sure if I wanted those things but then I realized that it was a part of my life like Peter was and in order to heal, I had to accept them.

"Hey, these are for you. Do you want them now?" Uncle Josh asked.

He wasn't sure it was a good idea for me to be rummaging through Peter's things. I took it from him and placed it on my bed. I can see in the box that there was my yearbook from last year. Peter had asked to sign my yearbook. When I got it back he had written:

Gena,

I think we have something here. Do you want to give it a try?

Peter

He wrote those words knowing he was risking our friendship but he was ready and I stupidly was not. I remembered being scared and excited about venturing into a relationship with him. Our first real date was awkward but we really didn't know what to talk about. Holding hands were awkward. Our first kiss was nerve racking but nice. It was a milestone for us. Now this was the end. No more milestones. It was unfair that he died and I get to live and wonder what would've become of us.

"Don't get unpacked kiddo, we have to be in Indianapolis in the morning for the Allstate 400." Uncle Josh announced from downstairs.

"Come on Uncle Josh, can I just please stay home for this one. Just pick me up when you come back through. I am fine really." I begged. "Listen, I have to deal with this my own way. I'm just going to pack his things and put everything away. This will be my way of finding closure with Peter." I explained.

"I just don't know how to help you Gena. Seeing you so sad, you have had a lot of pain in your short life. I am just waiting for you to snap and go crazy. When you do I just want to be here to help you get through it." He worried.

"Thanks Uncle Josh but I will be fine. I have a lot of things to pack away and get ready for school. Please I will be fine. I still have you, right." I confirmed.

"Okay kiddo, but listen I know how hard it is to be a teenager. The world doesn't seem so precious after so many losses but please if you start to sink, STOP AND THINK." He stated like it was some sort of commercial jingle. He thought I was suicidal.

"Uncle Josh, I don't have the courage to do myself in." I replied.

Standing there in the kitchen he scribbled the same jingle on a piece of paper and taped it on the refrigerator door.

BEFORE YOU SINK, STOP AND THINK.

"Well I still want you to watch me race on TV. It is going to be on at 4pm on Channel 9. Don't forget okay." He was still making sure I stay mentally connected. I think he thinks that if I was watching him I would less likely do something dangerous.

"I wouldn't miss your big race Uncle Josh. Drive carefully and be safe. Good Luck." I gave him a quick hug and kiss.

Regretfully, that was the last thing I said to him.

Here I am standing in front of his casket adorned with tons of red, blue and white flowers. Uncle Josh's funeral.

It is even harder to think those words than to say them. After 16 years of being a professional race car driver, he was killed on track during a pit stop. He was on his 20th lap when his tires started wearing down, which is normal. He pulled in for a quick change but then his car tires ignited into balls of flames. The whole car was engulfed in flames. His road crew worked as hard as they could but they could not get him out in time before he suffocated from smoke inhalation. It all happened on television. I watched it over and over again. Even before the NASCAR officials confirmed the story I already knew he was gone. I watched as the camera span across the fans. The look on their faces was disbelief and awestruck. Some were even crying. They did know him or love him why were they crying for My Uncle.

My heart closed inward to protect me from the pain that was coming. My mind shut down to those around me. I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't want anyone near me. I did not want anyone to look at me. I did not want to hear anyone saying:

"I am so sorry for your lost."

"He was a great man."

No one here can possibly know or understand what it's like to lose two people you love over a span of 18 days. They have no idea of the pain I carried around. I felt alone and guilty. I was the sole survivor of a humongous catastrophe. The guilt turned into anger. I was angry for being left behind. Why did I have to be the survivor, why couldn't I be the victim? There was no one left but me. I had no one else to lose. His house became too big for me to handle. My room was too small to stay in. I slept in his room. I missed my uncle. I missed his face. I missed his goofy smirks. The Reynolds family was all but wiped out.

After the funeral, I spent my daylight hours riding my Ducati recklessly everywhere. I could not go fast enough to escape the pain. I could not find my happy place. Many times it would have been easier to close my eyes while driving and just let whatever happens, happens. I thought about it many times while driving but each time I thought about what he wrote on the paper in the kitchen.

BEFORE YOU SINK, STOP AND THINK.

Even in his death he was with me. The lost of my uncle was worse than losing Peter. I had spent the last 4 years with my uncle. He was my family and friend. He taught me everything I know. He was the last of my family. I had no one else left. The thought of the loneliness was unbearable. At night, I would curl up in his bed and let the despair take over. I would lay in silence looking up at the ceiling. I could not cry. It was like I had run out of tears. It was a weird kind of mourning. I don't think it was normal but I much as I wanted to cry I could not.

​Three days after Uncle Josh's funeral, a wave of uncontrollable emotions raged through my body and unleashed all the despair and loneliness that no single human being could endure all at once. It happened when I was trying to find Uncle Josh's car keys. I unconsciously called out to him to ask him where it was. When I caught myself talking to myself the loneliness slapped me in the face. I finally cried. I cried for hours. I could not stop crying. Breathing became hard to do. My brain could not stop the pain from tearing at my heart. I was dizzy. My dead legs would not help me. There I lay on my uncle's bed. I had nowhere to go. I didn't have anyone to turn to. I did not want to sleep in my bed because Peter's things were still on my bed. Some friends came over, each one took turns bringing food or comforting me but my mood and coldness eventually scared them away. I did not want anyone near me. I knew I did not have to courage to hurt myself. Evidently, I was too good of a driver to wreck the Ducati. After I had a good cry, my senses became clearer. I knew what I had to do but it was still too hard to move. My movement was slow and clumsy.

​Slowly I worked myself up to packing Peter's things. There on my desk I saw the jewelry box again. All this time it has been sitting here. I had no interest in opening it. What is the difference now ....my mother's things, my father's things, Uncle Josh's, Peter's… I don't have enough strength to keep on packing dead people's things. So I left everything. I didn't want to be the one who packs people's memories away. I slowly made myself move to the kitchen. I can't remember when I last ate. I don't even know if there was any food in the refrigerator. There I saw my uncle's written sign.

BEFORE YOU SINK, STOP AND THINK

Somehow he was with me. "Thanks Uncle Josh." I whispered. I took the paper and traced his handwriting with my finger. I'd never really appreciated him until he was gone. He took me in when I had no one else. My thoughts were disrupted when the phone was on its third ring; I finally realized it was the phone.

"Hello"

"Hello, Ms Reynolds, this is Mr. Gaffney, your uncle's attorney. I am really sorry to bother you with this right now but I need to come by to settle your uncle's will before Friday. After Friday, I will be retiring and since your family was very near and dear to me I would like to complete this transaction myself. Can we meet tomorrow?" he requested.

"What day is it?" I had lost all track of time.

​

"It's Wednesday, I would like to see you tomorrow. It's a Thursday." He reconfirmed.

"Sure, Mr. Gaffney, when is the best time for you, I'm not going anywhere." I answered blandly.

"Well I can see you anytime after ten, is 11:00am good for you?" he asked

"That is fine, I'll be here." I replied dryly.

"Okay than I will see at 11am. Take care." he replied.

He said take care. What an odd man. I went back upstairs to my room. I went to my desk. Staring blankly at the jewelry box on my desk, I got angry. Why can't I open this stupid damn thing? Maybe I will pry open the edges, who really cares if I damage the box. I am the only Reynolds left anyway. Who makes such a stupid box with no key or keyhole? Maybe it was defected. Why would my mom leave me a defected box? I looked over the box again. I felt all around the box for any secret button or latch. Nothing, how irritating! I quickly ran downstairs into the kitchen to grab a knife. Upon coming back upstairs I grabbed my uncle's note off the counter. This was my motivational jingle. I remember he wanted to pry it open for me. Here's to you Uncle Josh. Stupidly, I rushed back up the stairs with the knife in my hand.

I held the box firmly with one hand and twisted the knife in between the edges of the box. I was careful not to stab myself because I did not want to have to explain to people what I was doing. They may not believe me anyway. Next thing you know I may be committed for suicide attempt. I tried slamming the box against the table but that did more damage to the table than the box. Frustrated I turned the box against the knife but because the metal was so strong the knife skidded upward and the tip pierced into my index finger. Blood dripped everywhere. It looked like a massacred happened on my desk. How much blood can I lose?

​"Damn it, now I have blood all over the damn thing." I hissed to myself.

I looked around for something to stop the bleeding but before I could turn away from my desk, drops of blood dripped from my finger down my hand and on to the clear space in the middle of the jewelry box. It seemed like everything happened in slow motion. I watched in disbelief as the clear space absorbed my blood like it was a sponge and not glass. Then suddenly I heard four distinct "clicks".

The jewelry box was opened by my blood.