Ariana Varnum “What I Treasure Most”

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Ariana Varnum

My most treasured item is a small brown gift box, which I keep safely tucked under my bed. If I were to lose that box, I would be devastated beyond repair. I know it’s silly to cling so desperately to these tangible memories, but everything-- down to the box itself-- has a special place in my heart. It holds so much, both metaphorically and literally.

I used the box to give my boyfriend, Matt, a gift for his sixteenth birthday. Later that year, he gave it back to me on my birthday, knowing I’d appreciate the callback. Inside the box, there was a letter, a jade plant, and a pint of my favorite ice cream: Ben and Jerry’s Dairy-Free Cherry Garcia. They all seem like simple things, but they were so perfect.

He knows me well enough to give me something thoughtful and personal, but not something so big it makes me uncomfortable. Matt always strikes that balance perfectly. Now, the ice cream is long gone, the plant died a month ago (I cried about this for at least an hour), and the letter, among other things, occupies this small brown box that’s littered with our handwriting.

It has a pair of silly heart glasses that we took from the photo booth at the Valentines’ day dance, where I realized that I loved him. I think we were both unsure about whether or not this was a date at the time, but I consider it our first date. I think he does too; we’re pretty in sync now. To paraphrase Fairly Odd Parents, we’re two halves of a whole idiot.

So we were at the Valentine’s day dance, nervously fidgeting and making small talk, despite the fact that the music was far too loud to do this successfully. Then I saw them: two pairs of tacky, red, heart-shaped sunglasses. My anxiety was quickly replaced with chaotic enthusiasm. I insisted we wear them. He laughed and complied with my ridiculous demand.

After a teacher pressured us to take what has to be the cutest and most uncomfortable looking photo-booth photo in history, Don’t Stop Believin’, the last song of the night, started playing. My whole face lit up. I grabbed his hand and ran back to the table where we were sitting before. I jumped up onto a chair, still wearing the sunglasses, and I loudly (and badly) sung along. It was late at night. I was deliriously tired and absolutely obnoxious. But when I glanced down at Matt, he was looking up at me, smiling. It was the kind of smile that made me feel like I was admired unconditionally. I had never felt that way before. He just quietly sat there, looking at me like I was a piece of art. After the song was finished and the dance was over, we walked outside, hand Illustration by Kaitlyn Johnson in hand, facing the icy winter wind, sporting matching sunglasses and goofy grins as we walked into the glistening monochrome of the night.

The sunglasses have another memory attached to them. The snow had now melted, replaced by the smell of wet dirt and the beginnings of greenery. I don’t remember why, but Matt and I had gotten in an argument earlier that day. He asked me what he could do to try to make it better. I asked him if we could sneak out to see each other that night. I didn’t give him many details. I just told him to wear something nice, and to bring snacks and candles. I was planning a midnight picnic.

We agreed to bike towards each other’s houses and meet halfway. We met up, complimented each other’s unusually

fancy attire, and decided to go to the library. We set up our assortment of snacks, lit the birthday candles he found, and I handed him a letter I had written him. Matt smiled at me and pulled out two more things from his backpack: a letter for me and the heart sunglasses. He put them on, I laughed, and we ate our picnic under the stars.

I remember saying that I wanted to stargaze, so we walked down to a bridge where we could see the stars better. He was playing music off to the side of the bridge while I stood directly in the middle of the road. I didn’t have any particular reason to do this. I just liked that I could. Ever the worrier, Matt told me to stay by the side with him. I pouted, pointing out that there weren’t any cars, it was the middle of the night, and it’s fun. He sighed and came to join me. Actually, he came to stop me, but I’ve mastered the art of puppy dog eyes. He was still in the sunglasses, which reminded me that we never got to dance on our first date. Shortly after the date, we got comfortable with each other almost instantly. Because I was much more confident around him, I asked him if we could dance now, since we never got the chance before. He nodded. We slow danced under the stars in the middle of the road.

We laid down on the cool pavement and talked for a while. Until I saw headlights. I grabbed his hand and ran with him to the side of the road. I remember laughing, then turning to check on him and seeing him pale, shaking, and completely amazed by my reaction. It felt like a scene from a movie. I think that’s my favorite memory.

The box also has every letter he’s ever written to me. Each letter is endlessly sweet. It’s as if he only has kind things to say about me. Sometimes, on rough days, I need to be reminded of the version of me he sees. When I feel bad about myself, there are always those letters to tell me why I shouldn’t.

Life can be really hard. Sometimes, it feels like my world is crumbling at my feet and I’m left completely alone while the sun is eclipsed, and without warning, I’m left alone in the dark. When I feel that way, those memories and letters lift my spirits and, in a way, give me some much-needed company. I can see his uniquely messy handwriting, the pen scribbles where he made mistakes, his doodles in the margins, his stream-of-conscious style of writing, and all of these tiny, one-of-a-kind, beautiful imperfections that make him… well, him.

In a way, it feels like a part of Matt is with me, even though I’m almost two hundred miles away. These little pieces of him were always important to me, but now that I’m in college, they mean so much more. I’m alone now. Almost. I still have these little fragments of him.

My favorite letter in the box is one he wrote me after I told him I was still kind of sad about how I had never received a gold star as a child. It’s a silly thing to be disappointed about as a seventeen-year-old, but Matt didn’t think so. He thought it was completely valid.

I’ve always liked how he started the letter. “Lovely Ari,”. Doesn’t that sound so pretty? The letter was full of compliments. On the back of the letter, he left a note. “Ps- You deserve a million gold stars :)”. On the back of the paper, in the margins, and all over the envelope, he drew little stars in yellow pen. He also made me an origami gold star with even more nice things to say written on it.

It’s thanks to little things like this that I haven’t had a complete breakdown since coming to school. Honestly, this box of memories and letters is what encouraged me to go in the first place. At first, I wasn’t sure if I had really earned it or if I was good enough. Matt was the one who got through to me and convinced me to chase my dreams. He was always so proud of me and he always believed in me, even when nobody else did.

The box can only offer so much company though. The distance has been difficult. We still love each other and we still spend the vast majority of our waking hours texting each other, so at least that hasn’t changed. But the distance is just too hard. We decided it would be less painful if we weren’t officially “dating” anymore. Honestly, we basically still are. But it’s a little easier to miss Matt than “my boyfriend, Matt”.

We’ve always been in sync, even when we’ve been apart for a while. Regardless of how long it’s been, when I see him and feel his lips on mine, it’s as if no time has passed. We grow and change together. Matt and I may be apart now-- which is hard, don’t get me wrong-- but honestly, I’m not worried about it. Somehow, I always seem to end up in his arms, feeling like we’re the only two people on earth. Ariana Varnum is double-majoring in Legal Studies and Criminal Justice. She is from Northern Vermont and in her sophomore year of high school, she checked out (and read) more books from the school library than 99.7% of the student body.