The Box

                                                       By David A. Spearman

It was a busy spring day when George walked into my office. “Frank take this carton it’s been in the warehouse since 1997 and Sharon said she hasn’t a claim on it.”

“Come on George toss it in the Dumpster, what in the world do I want a carton for?”

“You could open it up and see what’s inside.” He smiled.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t want to, I’ve got to much stuff. If I bring anything else home she’ll put me in a carton and ship me far, far away.”

I’d been with Nickel moving over twenty years. George was a professional warehouseman that had worked for the company more than thirty years. He was Mr. Old School, a key man in getting any relocation job done to perfection.

“OK George, just sit it in the corner.”

“Good, let me know what you find.”

“Forget it George there won’t be anything of value in there.Sharon would have received a claim if there was, you want to look?” Frank asked.

“No, I gotta get back to work. Talk to you later” George hustled out of my office.

I didn’t open it later. It was forgotten for almost a year. I was on the road a lot and every time I came back I would look at it and do nothing. It became part of my office décor along with someone’s baseball bat and an iron Egyptian thing that looked like a goose.