The Box

My grandfather , who i have very few memories of due to his passing with me at such a young age, a tall quite frail man. The life lines carved into his face like the gouges of an old tree marked by lovers. He spoke sternly and the subtle aroma of butterscotch candy lingering in the air as he told the tale of how he once killed a man for no less then twenty three dollars. His eyes were heavy like it was taking all his strength just to keep his lids from closing. I never listened so intently. Focused on every single word . His lips pressed together tightly. BANG! He described the single gunshot. I could almost feel the heat of the muzzle. At this point i noticed his heart beating faster and loud enough he felt he had to raise his voice just a bit. I was in shock. I asked how often he relives this moment. He paused and started to speak but then stopped himself short once again. The emotion on his face was that in which I've never seen. Pain, sadness, sorrow. All of this pain relived because i asked about a defining moment in his life. About this time i stood up and placed my hand on his shoulder. He reached up and placed his hand on mine. He asked if i could retrieve the ceder box on his book shelve. Without a second thought i was off to get it . I have seen this box at least a million times and never once touched it. The box was heavier then i expected. i gave the box to him and asked what ever happened to the man or if the police ever asked questions. He opened the box slowly and seemed to peek in. As if something were to leap out at any time. The box lid fell back on its hinges. I know whats in the box. He pulled out a news paper clipping, and leaned forward to reach for his glasses. Before placing the glasses on , he rested them on his head and wiped his eyes. He read the clipping to himself then extended his skeletal hand toward me. i took the clipping, it was dated 1947. Pops had to be about 22. As i read the clipping i could feel him watch me. My father spoke softly about the clipping saying he was about my age when he first read it . The headline read Highland town man shot dead...It happened on the eight hundred block of Ponca st. There were no witnesses , and no one to come forward with any information. The police believed the man had been in an altercation, But there were no suspects or clues. The firearm used in the killing was believed to be taken by a Homeless man possibly to sell. Also the mans wallet was taken and still he has never been identified. I reached for the box. He snapped the lid closed. The look on his face was that of a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. I had more questions but just didn't know how to phrase them. He was embarrassed but i had to know if my guess was right. I wanted to touch the gun. After a few moments he handed me the box. I didn't know what to do. He told me to open it. My Guts were Twisting. So i did just that i opened it. inside was exactly what i thought. A very well kept .38 nickle plated probably worth a small fortune. As i picked up the gun i could almost smell the burning powder. This is a powerful feeling. After a few seconds of inspecting the weapon, I noticed something else in the box. An Italian leather wallet. I placed the gun back into the box. The wallet held the answer to this story. The Mans name. I opened the wallet and look at the stacks of papers that it housed. Scraps of paper with phone numbers, a receipt from G.C. Murphy's five and dime, Two ten dollar bills and three one dollar bills and a state issued drivers license. Ralph Calhoun six foot one , one hundred and ninety pounds. He had a Short hairstyle and a scar on his forehead. My grandfather and I talked well in to the morning that day. About how times were different back then ,and how things are crazy now. My father placed everything back in the box and the box on the shelf. years later when my grandfather passed, we took the box and placed it on the book shelf in my fathers den. Every few years we will be sitting around late and pull it down, open it, and now my father gets to retell the tale. Oddly enough i noticed a new cedar box on the shelf down from my grandfathers box, But its always locked.



kevo