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Life, actually…

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WHICH FIRST? BOOK OR EGG?

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Way back when, so many years ago I can’t count, I am a nine-year-old peering at a vending machine, sweaty-palmed nickel in hand, wondering…

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I wonder what will pop out of that machine once the coin drops. What Cracker Jack-type prize will next grace the innards of the battered cigar box I keep under the bed at home.

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Everything is nine-year-old magical in my mind. Everything glistens with mystery and meaning.

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The vending machine is Pandora’s Box to me, only I choose to make Pandora a guardian of good and fun instead of a portender of pestilence and horror. As an avid reader I have already experienced the thrill of changing lore of old to suit my own imaginary world.

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Whatever is in that machine will cause my imagination to take off and build a story to comfort me in the dead of night.

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The old cigar box patiently awaits the arrival of Pandora Boy—me. Whatever lovely memory I add to its contents will improve and enrich my short time on this small planet.

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Now, the time is Today. At the bookstore, Allie is searching the front display table for one elusive old book that will be shipped to one elusive old customer, once found.

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“What’s this?” she asks, holding open a hollowed-out book, a book containing no words. A book someone has carefully crafted to look normal to the casual browser. A book intended to hide some treasure.

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I explain that I have found hollowed-out books now and then for many years—some filled with trinkets and treasures, some hiding love letters, some securing diaries, some waiting to be filled with secrets.

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These time capsules almost always are nondescript, adding to their invisibility. If a book’s cover and title instantly bore you, you are not apt to open it for further examination. The hidden secrets remain hidden secrets. Think what you may have missed.

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Allie reverently closes the hollow book and makes it invisible again, waiting for someone—maybe Pandora Boy—to hide something really special within.

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I walk to the front of the shop and stand before the old vending machines filled with invisible delights.

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Whenever anyone—a child of fifty or a child of five—places two quarters into the metallic slots, turns the handle to dispense the surprises, a colorful plastic egg pops out. Each egg contains various miscellaneous objects designed to mystify or delight or puzzle the five to fifty child.

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Each egg brings a nine-year-old smile back to my face and jolts me into the Good Pandora parts of life that are always worth exploring

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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.