BOX 2 – the voiceless box
I don’t know where to start because I don’t know what I want to say. If I had something to say then maybe it wouldn’t be voiceless, or maybe it would be like the wind – saying a million things without a voice. But then if it were like the wind then it would not be a box, because boxes only hold empty spaces and toys and buttons. Have you ever heard of a box that holds the wind? Or even of a box that holds a voice?
There is a box in my head – she is all neat and organized labeled with identifying tags but the box in my head she can’t speak, she only whispers. Sometimes when I listen very hard I hear her.
I don’t think she likes me very much – I make her cry. I turn her neat little world on its head. I open all the drawers and compartments – pull out all the clothes, leave the books on the bed – an absolute mess.
She can’t speak but she whispers and she cries, and when I listen very hard her tears fill my eyes.
I don’t want to make her cry – it’s just that I am curious. I have to see what is behind the curtain and the colour of the bricks below the layers of paint. The box she is not curious, she does not want to know, she is safe in herself, safe in her boxed in world.