The narrators of Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close write in extremely specific detail. I tried to do the same. I am incredibly bad at it, but here it is:
For my birthday, she gave me a box. It was small, the kind of box you put jewelry in. The wrapping paper was thin, like newspaper, and covered in hand-drawn hearts. I tore it open carefully, not trying to save the paper, but because I did not want to show her that I wanted to tear the wrapping. I wanted to rip it away. I contained my anticipation. The box was black and velveteen. I opened it slowly, my eyes trained on the edge, where the hinge would open to disclose the beauty inside. A small piece of college-ruled paper slipped out. It was the size that someone tears out of a notebook to spit a used piece of chewing gum in before putting it with the other rubbish. On the paper, written in her round script, were three words. "I luv u!" it read. I read it over and over, slightly disappointed that the box did not contain what it was crafted for. "I love you too," I said.
Looking back on it, five years later, I have learned to appreciate my friend's gift. It wasn't jewelry. I couldn't wear a pair of sparkly earrings that would make my eyes light up. I couldn't receive complements on them as I walked through the hallways at school. But I could wear it. I could wear her "I luv u" in my face. I could wear her "I luv u" in my eyes. I could wear her "I luv u" in my smile. I could wear her "I luv u" every day in my heart. I could keep with me the the sense of love and acceptance. Somebody luved me.
They say the best things come in small packages. It's a cliché, I know. It's a cliché, which I hate. But life is full of clichés, which are actually just wisdom contained in a tiny phrase. A phrase you're likely to hear a googolplex times (notice the reference?). Repeated wisdom, that takes an instant to understand. Because that small package might have changed my life.
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