The Puzzle-Box


This is a story about a girl who was born, and her life. It is like a jigsaw puzzle. She was like a jigsaw puzzle-box. Then, one day, the box exploded, and all the pieces went missing. Sometimes, people would find a piece, and think it was the whole puzzle. Sometimes, a little piece thought it was the whole puzzle, too.
Sometime much later, a nice lady found the box and the puzzle pieces – well, some of them, anyway. She held each piece like it was precious and valuable. She held each piece, and looked at it, and worked to understand it, until she could help the little puzzle piece see where it fit.
Some pieces were ragged. Some were faded. Some were very dirty. Some were razor-sharp. Some were invisible (they thought). Some were not like any puzzle pieces she had ever known. But she just held each one as precious and valuable. She just held them until she could help them fit into the puzzle. Some puzzle pieces helped her find other pieces that had been lost beyond hope.
The box had been empty for a very long time. It had been empty so long that it came to believe it had been always empty. But then, one day, it decided to go on a quest to see what was really in its emptiness, because it was a very strange emptiness.
It was on this Journey that the box met the nice lady. Then, the nice lady told it wisely about the pieces that belonged to it. She told about all the pieces that were really a part of its emptiness. The strange thing was that, although the box thought it was empty, it really wasn’t. The wise lady told the box that its emptiness was very full. How odd! But it was very full. It was very full of being scared. And it was very full of terrible thoughts and terrible memories and terrible pain. But all the box saw was emptiness.
Then, the wise lady started introducing the little puzzle pieces to each other and the box. There was much consternation and confusion, and even some reluctance, but then it also began to feel good not to be alone and to have friends and a family.
Carefully, the wise lady helped everyone begin to fit together inside the box. There was much conversation and interaction, mostly good, but sometimes conflictual, like in any family.
Now all the pieces are fitted together and the puzzle is whole and happy inside the box, and the box is careful of the pieces and has finally realized that it is actually a piece of the puzzle, too.
At this time, I am knowing that I am the puzzle-box – I am a puzzle – but I am not empty anymore, and I am not pieces anymore. I am more than the whole. I am me.

To Miss Sue
From Roxanne