While out for a walk on the beach near our house, we found a large, empty, red plastic box. It had the name of an Irish fishing boat on it and had washed up in recent storms. We often find random items of rubbish on the beach, such as clothing, tyres, or baby bottles, and we always bring them home to dispose of appropriately. This time, as we were heading away from the house – and given the size of the box – we left it, intending to return the same way and pick it up on the way back. But we didn’t and we forgot.
“So what?” you might ask. This is a fairly uninspiring story so far. And yes, I guess it is.
HOWEVER, that night when we sat around the table for dinner. I turned my head in the direction of the beach, and there in the distance, I could see it. A small red speck that most people wouldn’t notice. But knowing it was there, I couldn’t help myself. I pointed it out to the family. They didn’t care much. But I continued to stare like it was calling out to me. Like it was mocking me.
In terms of distance, the position of the box – I have estimated – is around a third of a mile from the house. The beach itself is an estuary. To cross it, one must wade through a river that transects it and, when the tide is in, there is also the challenge of the sea. So it’s not an easy hike over to get the box. That said, with a bit of effort, I could go and pick it up whenever I wanted to.
But this is where it gets complicated. See, over the coming days after we discovered it, I kept an eye on the box. I directed my telescope, which sits in the front window of the house, in its direction and could see it. I looked at it when I got up in the morning and the sun rose over the headland; I looked at it when I went downstairs to make lunch and the tide was usually in; and, I looked at it when I finished for the day and the setting sun draped golden hues over the landscape.
I consider going to get it, but I never actually do, I just keep watching it. I keep imagining it containing something fascinating – maybe some precious item or a treasure. It inspires short stories and new novels in my head – particularly as I think how funny it is for a grown man to be obsessing over and watching an empty plastic box that sits, silently, on a remote corner of a deserted beach. It could be a Rear Window-type, voyeur tale in which the box contains something interesting, perhaps relating to a crime. What if the obsessed person watches and watches the object until he is unable to bear it any longer and when he goes over to get it, he finds it contains a body?
Wow, that went dark fairly quickly, didn’t it?
I should probably go get the box. We don’t want more plastic waste in or around our open seas. But taking it away would spoil the fun of imagining what is inside. That is where my predicament lies. I’m caught in this strange stalemate, in which only I can make the next move. Because there is only myself and the box involved.
So what do I do now? While I decide, I think I might go downstairs and take a look through the telescope.
