For part 1 click here.

As she walks home from work a kid starts to walk next to her. Just some five year old.

“Are you walking back home from school? I walk home. I’m in kindergarten. I’m five.” The kid says.

“That’s nice.” She smiles down at him. Nothing more. She didn’t answer his question.

“Is that a project for school?” the kid asks her, stabbing the box with his chubby finger.  It smudges the side of the box.

Shifting it to her other side, away from the kid, she looks down at him.

“No.” she says. It’s the first time she’s ever said a word about the box.

Lean in, expectant, and try to hear.

“What does it do?” the child says.

“It holds things. See?” she replys, shifting the box back in forth, showing how well its six sides holds things inside.

“What kind of things?” the child probes.

Will she give an answer?

“Well…my things. Things that are mine” she smiles to herself, thinking the kid sill be sufficiently cowed to silent wondering.

But the child continues. It’s a dodgeball game he throws one out and she hops and swings to the side.

“Do you ever take them out and look at them?” he throws out the question and it slams into her gut. It hits.

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