Stort Stories

The Little Pink Hat Box

An impassioned man with a pink hat box saved me. He inquired why liquid was falling from my eyes, and I told him about my horrendous day that started with a coffee in my lap, a publisher's disinterest in my manuscript, and my husband waking up in my best friend's bed. "I hate this world."

With a voice of steel, he spoke of how children's dreams and adults' fears are perpetual. That the real world is anarchic. Full of chaos and disarray. Then there are people like us, his wife and I, the dreamers. We are the ones who make a difference in the world.

"I presume these are the ramblings of an old man," I admitted with a laugh that sounded sad.

He smirked, his eyes twinkling with wisdom. "Old men ramble, but they also know a thing or two."

With a whack of his cane to my temple. The curmudgeon man shoved the pink hat box in my lap and walked away.

"Perhaps that will knock some since into you" he through over his shoulder.

I am not sure why I kept the pink hat box. It never left my hands until I got home and tossed it on my dresser, filled with half-written stories and divorce papers. It sat on my dresser collecting dust as my depression filled days flew by, then one sunny day the birds chirped too loud, I could hear my mom happily singing downstairs in the kitchen. The smell of blueberry muffins was swirling around the house. The pink hat box was too pink. Everything felt so grey; the birds brought yellow musical notes through my window, and my mother brought blue scents. And the pink box mocked me with its happiness, I kicked it off my dresser. As the box flew, the lid opened, and hundreds of letters fell like feathers.

I picked one up and it was from a mother in Ohio that was unable to pay her mortgage, her neighbors bought the bread she made, and the extra vegetables she grew and saved her house. The next was a girl who had to stop to use the bathroom, and a stranger watched the broken door for her. One was from a police officer who saved a girl from her burning vehicle that she was living in and helped her find a place to live and a job. Another from a wife who was given flowers by her husband just to be kind.

As I read through each heartfelt letter that spilled from the pink hat box, a realization dawned on me like the first rays of sunlight after a stormy night. Each story, each act of kindness, was a testament to the enduring power of compassion in our chaotic world.

I began to understand what the impassioned man with the pink hat box had tried to teach me that day. Despite the hardships, the disappointments, and the betrayals that had clouded my life, there was still goodness out there. There were still people who cared, who acted selflessly to make a difference, no matter how small.

"I guess the old man wasn't just rambling after all," I murmured to myself, wiping tears that were now tears of a different kind—hopeful tears.

I cried that night. The first bit of emotion started, and then it became consuming. My eyes were scratchy the following day. I got up and walked past the Chinese food boxes and dirty clothes on my floor to the bathroom. I took the world's hottest shower and felt all those negative emotions wash down the drain. I saw glimpses of hope where I had once seen despair. The pink hat box, once a forgotten relic on my dresser, became a symbol of possibility and renewal. Its too-bright color reminded me that amidst the chaos and disarray, there were moments of grace and humanity that could light up even the darkest of days.

I walked back to the bench where I first met the man with the pink box. I held two cups of coffee and a loaf of Babka. I didn't have to wait long before he came over and sat down beside me. I thanked him for opening my eyes to the beauty that still existed in the world.

He smiled knowingly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Always knew you had it in you to see beyond the grey."

"Thanks to your pink hat box," I replied, handing him a cup of coffee.

"Ah, the magic of a pink hat box," he chuckled, taking the coffee. "You know, you might have a story there."

Later that night, I started on a new manuscript. This one is titled The Little Pink Hat Box...