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x and o
This is part of my larger story I wrote in high school called "Cafe et moi" (Coffee and me in french). It was for my final in my creative writing class and was entered in the young authors fair. I won first place for it in my age group for fiction. I hope I can post the story one day. I only have a hard copy and the story is very long. If I get the chance, I will retype it.
As for this piece, its a substory in Cafe et moi. A lot of people liked this part, So I will post it. Btw, its an adapation of a very old chinese love story, though I re-worked a lot of it to make it flow with Cafe et moi, nonetheless, its still a good story on its own. I will add a small part of intro to Cafe et moi in the beginning so it will make sense.
Enjoy.
The Story of X and O
I was born on July 4th at 10:58 PM. My grandfather said it was the exact time he last saw my grandmother. My grandfather saw it as a sign that I will find someone and not let her go like he did with my grandmother and, through my grandfather's persistance, they named me Onnin, which means happiness in Finnish.
Sometimes I wonder, maybe my name is a curse. It is like when you tell yourself something isn't going to happen and then it does. Or when you repeat something to yourself so you can remember, then end up forgetting it and remembering it three weeks later while you're taking a shit. A permanent jinx. How can someone that is named hapiness be so sad?
My grandfather was always there for support, especially when my parents had split, but I saw less and less of him since I moved away from Hong Kong and to the States for school. I flew last week to Asia for his funeral. He was just too old I guess. He left me a few things, his journal, some money and this odd box.
"It's locked" I told my father.
"Just leave it" he said.
I had it looked at at a local appraisal road show that was going on in San Francisco, the appraiser said it was a very old music box, handcrafted, he's only seen one other one before in his career. He said if it weren't for the missing key and the big O scratched on the lid, it would be worth at least seven hundred dollars.
I'd never sell it though.
Flipping through the journal, I noticed a few entries, some old pictures. Half way through, I noticed my grandfather stopped writing entries and started writing a story. Struck with insomnia, I turned on the light in my bathroom, sat on the toilet and began to read.
The story of X and O
"Love is, without a doubt, the most wrtten about emotion in the history of mankind. It is a feeling everyone shares, everyone wants and, sometimes, a person just needs. There are many types of love, the predetermined love for a family member, sweet, sentimental love for a book or a song, and the wonderful love you find in another human being. But no matter what type it is, love always ends up giving us that uplifting feeling, the feeling of importance. Many times a person will say they have fallen in love, only to say the exact same thing about another person months down the line. How do you know if you have ever loved someone? Isn't it questionable when you find yourself falling in and out of love? How will you ever know you truly love the person you believe you love? Or that that significant other actually loves you the same? In my heart I believe that love brings you into things stronger than what you are, if you have not faced bounds over your soul, you have not truly loved. Situations that often end tragically are not always situations meant to discourage, but inspire the human spirit to grow stronger. There are those who find their X and O, and there are those who long for them, yet never do. That is life. So my friend, I ask you.
Are you feeling lonely?
Would you like me to tell you a story?
Once upon a time, in a far, far place, sat a small cathedral. One night, an uninvited guest arrived. A baby girl, wrapped in layers of blankets, tucked away in the folds, a small note.
Please take care of me.
The nun's named her Betty, which means devotion to god.
As she began school at the orphanage, she never paid attention. So the Sisters moved her to the front of the class, where she sat next to the other naughty kids. She was put next to Peter, who often liked to stare in a daze outside the window.
For orphans, the only way to improve your situation is to study hard. But these two characters liked to daydream, so they never completed any of their homework and failed all of their tests. Betty was given an X on all of her test and Peter, recieved big fat zeros. This went on for months and months until the other children started calling the pair "X and O".
X and O would look around the classroom in confusion when the other kids laughed at their failure, while the sisters would shake their heads in silent dissapointment.
During the weekends they were punished for not completing their chores. Folding their clothes, making their beds, washing up after themselves. They were punished by humiliation. They were forced to stand outside on the balcony of the cathedral, for all to see, holding their ears. Their little arms grew tired from the hours of standing, but they have seen the punishment the older kids recieved and agreed this was far better than any spanking. But sometimes people don't learn, although its not fair to call them people, after all, they are just children. They don't know any better. O would often make faces at X to try to get a laugh from her. When the sisters saw this, it only added more hours of standing.
The two troublemakers were inseperable. When one would get in trouble, the other would do the same crime just to be locked into the punishment room. This room was feared by the others, yet X and O found sanctuary in it. The room reeked with the smell of old bed sheets and wet cabbage. The ground was warm in the day and ice cold during the night. The room was no bigger than the both of them, with little room to sit and barely enough to stand, yet they would sit and laugh for hours about what to do next.
At night, X would sneak out of her room and climb the old oak tree at the front of the cathedral and stare at the sky until her eyes grew tired. She would watch the moon until it sank into the stars should would listen to the creeps and pops of the little night creatures and most of all, she would watch O watch her.
But they could not stay together forever. They were growing older and older children are adopted quickly. X and O were no exceptions.
X was interviewed for a family and they seemed to get along well. But the family could not afford to adopt O, it tore his heart inside, but at the same time, he was happy X would have a chance at a better life.
On their final night together, O handed X a small gift.
"I sold all of my belongings for this. I want you to have it."
It was a small music box.
"I bought two, one for me and one for you. So that whenever you are listening to it, you will know I will be listening to the same song."
O took out a small knife he had stolen from the kitchen and took both boxes. On one he carved an X, and the other he carved an O.
Years had past. O was adopted by a family. O sent X his key to his music box, as a reason to go see her, if he ever wanted to hear the music box again, he would have to get his key back. X and O wrote to each other for years, always saying they will visit each other, but never did. They wrote daily. Then it became weekly. Weeks turned into months, months into years, then the letters just stopped.
Every night, O looked at his music box. Every night he hope a letter would come back, a letter with no return address, with no words, just a key. He wanted to hear the song one more time before he passed away. But he knew he was caught up in a reverie."
It ended there. I swallowed hard when I remembered the appraiser talking about the big O scratched on top of the music box and when I checked, it was as bright as daylight. I took it back to the appraiser the following weekend and asked if he had the name of the owner of the other box similar to my grandfathers. He couldn't provide me with the information due to the rules but I explained to him the situation and he agreed.
He gave me a name and a number.
Michael Trent. 555-3529
I called him and asked about the music box. He said it was from his grandmother, and he had it appraised a few years ago, but hasn't sold it, since it doesn't work. I arranged a meeting as his house, he didn't live too far, about a 3 hour drive.
When I arrived serveral hours later, I greeted Michael. He seemed around thirty, slightly shaved beard, he was really confused about the whole situation but was kind enough to let me visit. I didn't tell him about my grandfather's journal, I just told him I had a similar box and wanted to see if his key worked on mine.
I showed him my grandfathers music box. He stood up, went into a room for a short while and came out with a box.
"She used to play it everyday, for hours and just look outside the window. Eight years ago, it stopped working. A short while after that my grandmother passed away"
He placed the broken music box on the coffee table, it had a large X scraped on top of it. I set my grandfathers next to hers. He took out two keys and opened hers.
It was silent.
I poked around the box a bit and noticed a piece of paper sticking out from the bottom.
It was a note.
It read
"I love you" - X
I took the key and opened my grandfather's box. I recognized the song.
"It's Debussy, Reverie"
There was a note inside.
It read
"I've always known" - O
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Last edited by Mouko on 05-02-2002 at 12:03 PM
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05-01-2002 07:15 PM
