#273.15: De boîtes à musique et d'autres choses.

You know how when you come across something you played with when you were younger and haven't seen in a long time, it opens up a chest of repressed childhood memories you had locked away in the darkest recesses of your mind, somewhere?

Today, while clearing the toxic wasteland that is my room, I chanced upon this contraption:

Yes, Instagrammed. I know.

For the clueless, that doohickey in the picture is the musical part of a music box.

I got the music box for my eighth birthday from my uncle. I remember thinking "Sweet Jesus that is the most magical thing I have seen" when my uncle first showed me how to play it. Picture a curly-haired 8 year old kid with a party hat on her head, mouth agape and eyes sparkling with wonder.

The box itself was black, and had red and gold flowers on the lid. There was a key under the box which you had to wind up (music boxes are powered by clockwork), and then if you opened the box you would able to hear the music. Under the lid of the box was a mirror, with a lake and swans painted around the bottom.  There was also a sort of podium in the box, on which a pair of pearly white ballerina figurines stood. When the music played and the box was open, the ballerinas would twirl gracefully round and round the little stage.

Ah, the music.

The box played a chiming rendition of 'Swan Lake', by Tchaikovsky. You might know it from 'Black Swan', or from 'Barbie of Swan Lake'. Or from the original ballet itself. Who knows.

I used to keep paper stars, friendship bands, feathers, badges and other oddities that I treasured, in the music box. And the box itself at the back of the cupboard under all the sweaters. I was very protective of it. [Read: If anybody touched it without my permission, rest assured heads would be rolling.]

And then I broke it, a couple of years down the line. I had already lost the ballerinas, and the mirror had fallen off and shattered. I remember wondering what made the music, so I smashed the box to bits. I received my answer, along with a nasty gash on my palm and a hole in my good shirt.

Serves me right.

I managed to salvage the musical part from the wreckage, thankfully.

So I was pleasantly surprised to find it resting quietly among all the junk in my drawer. I picked it up and wound the key, and as the tune played, nine years' worth of memories came flooding back. In other words, I nostalgia'd. Hard.

;A;