Girls and Boxes

by B. T.

My girlfriend is so into boxes. I mean she likes all boxes, empty boxes, to put stuff in or not. Big boxes, little boxes, all different color boxes. Boxes with no colors. Plastics, paper, tin. One time she bought a box made out of the skin of an orange. She loves them. I walk into the bedroom, and she has a set of three stacking boxes. Blue, Red and Yellow. There is nothing in them. They are just there. I knock them over all the time. She gets angry every time I do.
“I can’t help it,” I tell her. “They are too close to the bed.” She never moves them.
One day, I accidentally stepped on a little blue box that fell off of the coffee table. It was one of her favorites. I was so scared. I tried to fix it, but she would know. I ran out of the apartment looking for this stupid little blue box. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I mean, why would anyone sell little blue boxes. They are useless. You can’t fit anything in there. Maybe a piece of hair, I don’t know. So, I walked 10 blocks from my house to a neighborhood that I know my girlfriend will never go to. I put the box in 3 plastic bags and I threw it into a large Dumpster. I made sure no one was following me. I got back to the apartment and she was there, waiting. I acted like normal. I picked up the TV clicker and sat down. I tried not to look at where the box used to be on the coffee table. I was sweating suspiciously and abnormally. I was watching Magnum P.I. I tried to act interested in the show. I hate Tom Selleck. I could feel her looking at me. She then turned and went into the kitchen. I took a deep breath and prayed that I would make it through the night. If I made it through the night, then she can’t blame me for anything because it will be a new day. I survived, but I think she knows. She brought home 5 boxes last week. They were made out of wood. She put them on the other side of our bed. Five wood boxes on my side of the bed…yes, she knows.