The Night Before

The old shoebox covered in plastic drawer liner was on the top shelf of the closet in my room in my parentís house. It was crammed in the back corner, under the argyle sweater my Godmother gave me in 1989, and next to rock collection I insisted on keeping from my 9th summer. I fished it out and held it gingerly in my hands. Micky with his big black ears grinned toothlessly up at me from the lid, which left me straining to recall if Micky, like all mice, had teeth - all I could remember seeing were tonsils.