elizabeth's hatbox

five;

noah,

this morning, i'd been sleeping late, which made dad rush up to my room, fling the door open and check. he'd been scared; it was evident. he never said anything, he tried not to express anything, but it was clear he'd thought i was dead.

i felt like laughing at this.

death is inevitable, noah. it's true and it's unavoidable. at times, it's expected, and at other times, it's not. yours wasn't anticipated, though. you died in a car accident. why, no one knows. you had a strict policy set up against drinking, against smoking, against anything that kind. you drove following all rules and under the speed limit. all in all, you were the perfect example of what people call goody two shoes. and so you going this way was unforeseen.

you had hit a lamppost. hard. a lot of people said you had a go at giving yourself up, but i believe it's not that. if something had been going on with you, you'd have told me. because you used to tell me everything, right? you'd tell me. i know you would.

dad hugged me. he told me how late it was and how i should've gotten up earlier. i nodded his words off. after a while of prodding me to reply to him, dad gave up. he knew how badly mornings agonize me, and how talking was something i'm not a big fan of in the morning.

after you left, it'd just gotten worse.

dad stood up, kissed me on the forehead and told me about this new job he's landed. he said it starts tomorrow and all i simply, again, was nod. he asked me to quickly come down for breakfast. just as he was about to leave, his eyes fell over my desk. and on my desk sat elizabeth's hatbox.

he asked what it was. i said it was a hatbox.

"really? i didn't know you had a hatbox."

"there's a lot of things you don't know about me, dad," i mysteriously answered.

"ah, all right," dad said. "come down for breakfast, quick. oh, and, saraem?"

i looked up at him. "yes?"

"that hatbox is beautiful."