My Treasure Box by zprymantis@smilingwithteeth.com The older I get, the less tangible are my treasures. As a small child, there was a stuffed pink bunny, old and worn with a freshly glued red felt smile. A mother's time was spent fixing his worn spots and attaching that demented grin. Little fingers traced the smiling bunny mouth and even now the memory brings a smile. The red felt smile was proof of a mother's love. A pencil cap shaped like a crown, gold peeling paint and a plastic yellow jewel at the top. It might have been long forgotten, except it became special with it's loss. She walked and talked and tossed it into the air, a game. Something to finger and touch and distract from the embarrasing boy and girl conversations. She had missed and let it slide between her fingers, and it rolled down and away and into the alleyway grate. She felt careless and ashamed to have lost it, When he handed it to her the next day, along with the story of it's retrivial with a long stick and chewed bubblegum, it became a treasured gift. The crown pencil cap was rescued from the gutter and she held it tightly in her hand. She would never play games with her treasures again. Reaching down, she pulled her panties back up over her sore behind, sealing in the heat from the spanking and smoothing out her pleated school skirt. The gift of a punishment, a "Daddy's" affection delivered with vigor and careful aim. The marks will fade quickly but the gift remains in her heart. Forgiveness delivered with love and strict searing pain, a desire secreted from the glaring judgements of those outside the moment. It's as innocent and pure as the interlocking of hands in prayer or the gentle pat a father gives to his little girls backside as she smiles and wiggles in the warmth of his loving gaze. His fingers on the white and black keys, turning her words and story into music. What more treasured gift could there be, than understanding her thoughts? The sound of the music opens her mind, like a child on the beach, turning over pebbles, exposing the soft silky sand and the dimple of a shy creature who quickly scurries down and away. The treasures that I hold dearest to me, are things that I am allowed to give. A smile to a mother who took the time to comfort me, sorrow in losing something and rejoicing when it's found, being vunerable and honest with desires and dreams and listening and hearing when someone shyly offers me their trusting soul. © 2004 by zprymantis@smilingwithteeth.com, not to be reposted or distributed without permission Return to Z's Mind Candy