Box of Memories

Will's aunt is putting her house on the market and has been cleaning it out little by little, getting rid of all the things she won't need, including Will's battle-scarred, childhood chest that he brought home a few days ago.  

I spent some of my day off work today cleaning and polishing it up, preparing it for its new role as storage space for our spare bedding. As I wiped and waxed, I couldn't help picturing my husband as a kid; energetic, loud and rough with the world at his feet and all the potential in the world.  I wonder if he is happy with the way his life turned out... of course if I asked him he would say that he is, but I wonder if he ever thought his life would turn out the way it has? 

Did he ever imagine that he would become a travelling salesman like his father, when he was a boy crying with frustration that his daddy was never home, stuffing this chest with toys?  Or when he got to high school and begun filling it with sports memorabilia, trophies, jerseys and collective cards?  Did he think he would be so settled down when he became even older and his chest became a storage unit for letters, photos and records of his achievements in the Marine Corps? 

I wonder if he thinks that his life has become so predictable and whether he is content with the decisions he has made that have got him to this place in his life... or if he still yearns for more? Like his toy chest that watched him evolve over his lifetime, holding so much within; now standing rather pathetically at the foot of our bed storing pillows, sheets and blankets.