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Tuesday, July 8, 2008

This material is copyrighted by Rachel Plotkin. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.

The Box By Rachel Plotkin

(part of the story, more later)

This isn't a dream, This isn't a dream. I told myself over and over, I still couldn’t believe it.
I was finally free, free from my home..a personal place of torture. I was finally going to see my grandparents whom I didn't know I had up until three months ago. I opened my the window pane again, just to see if I was still in the clouds. I wanted to go, to touch them, to see if they were real, but I knew that would be stupid. I closed it again to block away my stupid thoughts.
I bent down and took out a small box from under the seat in front of me. I had received a package three months ago, that my mother slyly tried to hide from me. Ever since my father left her when I was close to two, she didn’t trust anyone, or anything. I had never spoken to my father, though the package stated otherwise. Still I knew if he had somehow tried to contact me, my mother would have done her best to keep him away. She hated him, his life, his family.
If it hadn't been for college, for moving out of my personal hell, I never would have found the box, the box that seemed to have the life I always wanted in its small interior.

Dear Anna, Please do not be mad..and if you can, try not to tell your mother...

I Laughed a little.

My name is Rana, and my husbands name is Orov. We are your grandparents. Please try to still keep your calm. Try not to be mad, at us. We have tried many times to call you and send you letters, all of which your mother has blocked or sent back. We can’t handle it Anna, we want to know you.

Even though I had read this already over a million times, the anger still broiled to my face as I read it.

You are 18, and graduating from your school. We know that now there is a better chance for us, for you. Legally your mother cannot stop you, but I’m sure the wretch will try.

Though I shared no feeling for my mother, it still bothered me that they had said that.

Take a year off from college, come visit us. All of us. We live in Venice, Italy..if that helps at all. We could show you around, add to your culture, or if you insist you could enroll in a college here. Of course there is always summer, but we would prefer a longer time. We understand your decision either way Anna, we just want to know you, all of us. Please consider it.
With Love, Mami and Papi

The “all” stared through at me as if it meant more than just the two of them, but I left it at that.



© Rachel Plotkin 2005