Joe sat there for another five minutes, thinking about it, and then finally crossed the room. He walked over to the shelf and stood looking up to it. Tension built in his neck; he put his hands in his pockets, as he felt silly for letting a box of memories cause him such anguish. After another few moments, he finally reached up to the shelf and pulled it down. He looked at the top of it; a thick layer of dust covered its top. He brushed it off, leaving tracks in the dust from his fingers. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocketknife. Joe cut through the string that held it shut. He hesitated a moment before pulling the top off.