The Gift

"What is it?" he asked, as he turned it over in his hands.

"A gift," she responded dryly.

"Well, what's it supposed to be?"

"Hell if I know.  You know how he is, always sending me strange widgets that make him think of me.  He probably found it at a garage sale somewhere."

"I don't know, it seems like there's got to be some way to..." (turns it over in his hands) "I just feel like I could open it if I could only -- There!"

(silence - both stare)

"Oh," she takes it from him and turns it thoughtfully in her palm.  "I still don't really know what it's supposed to be.  I mean, a locket of some kind?"

"I've never seen a locket that... looks like that.  It's kind of creepy."

"I think it says something on the back." (scrapes at the object with her nail)  "K.E.P."

"Hmm... did he send a note or anything?"

"No, just that dusty box and some old newspaper.  I wonder if it has any sentimental value or is just some trinket he found."

"You should ask."

"I doubt he'll even remember sending it.  He's getting worse and worse.  I was just over there yesterday and I had to tell him twice who I was.  It's sad... we'll be in the middle of talking and he'll stop mid-sentence.  I always know when it's going to happen because his eyes get really small.  He looks around like something's going to trigger a memory, and then he uses that voice I'm not used to hearing, that meager voice he used to use in the hospital when the doctor was talking to him." (Sigh.)  "I never know what to do.  I'm sure he appreciates the company, but... it's hard to be there.  Sometimes I feel like I make it worse."  (Places locket back in box and then into a drawer with similar-sized boxes).

"Why do you hang on to all those if you don't even know what they are?"