A music box is a Lady’s treasure chest.
A music box is a Lady’s lock-box.
(NOT that type of box. Get your mind out of the gutter).
It is something only she can open.
It is a place to keep treasures.
It is a place to keep secrets.
I had a pink music box when I was seven.
I was not yet a Lady.
(Am I a Lady now?)
It had a pink ballerina in a tiny, pink tutu made of tulle.
She twirled round and round not quite dancing.
I would have preferred a musical carousal with tiny, perfect horses.
I did not want a practical music box that was also a jewelry box.
I had no jewels.
The poor own nothing of value.
Seven years later, I coveted the Imperial Easter Eggs of Russia.
This was my ballerina phase.
This was my Anastasia phase.
I read and read and read.
Books about the Russian ballet.
Books about the last Imperial family of Russia.
I coveted riches.
I would settle for any jewel-encrusted token made by Faberge.
Perhaps a tiny tortoise or a regal elephant to grace my window-sill.
I had no need of a jewelry box.
I had no need of a music box.
I had no need of music.
I had secrets within me.
I had a ticket not unlike Willy Wonka’s. It would lead me through the maze, down a winding path and home again.
I had a handful of river and ocean stones to guide the way. Forward or backwards it didn’t matter. I took a stone from every body of water that I came upon. I kept them in my pocket.
I had a mysterious envelope full of fortunes collected throughout my life. There were no repeats. All of them were right. All of them were wrong. All of them were mine.
I had a winding key. I still have not discovered what it winds up (or down, as the case may be). I have no time-piece to try it on. I have too much time. I have not enough time.
I have no need of a music box.
I have no need of a treasure chest.
All I need I can carry in my heart, in my mind and in my imagination.
I have no need.
February’s posts will be inspired by the Ray Bradbury Noun List.