object story

A Link in Time

As I dug, my small hand shovel hit something hard.  I thought it was just a rock, as it is very rocky out here. I decided to just dig around it, but I kept hitting whatever it was.  I finally decided to try to uncover it and see what it was so I could try to move it. As I brushed away the dirt on top, what I thought was a rock was actually, much to my surprise, a wooden box.  As I tried to uncover it more and retrieve this newly found treasure I thought about how it got here and why it was here.  Why was it a few feet from the big tall tree that I loved to escape to? Why was it out here a few acres from the farm house we moved into a few years ago? What could be inside? Did the person who buried it want it to be found?

As I tried to unbury and gather up the box I thought about the history of this area. I thought about how soldiers, young men from small families, lived in this area. One had even lived in my house back then. I wondered if he was the one who buried the box.

I finally got a hold of the box. I flipped the lid open to see what was inside. There was an old lock, heavy and a little dirty. There was also two interlocking chain links. One of the last two things was a small, pressed, white flower. And lastly a note written in almost perfect cursive. Written to a young man from the girl he loved.

The note talked about how she told him to look for this box, buried a few feet from the tree they would always meet at, when he got home from the war. It also talked about how the small, pressed flower represented the small, white flowers he would always give her when they met by the tree. The lock, that she had randomly found, represented that he had the key to her heart. And at last the two chain links represented that they would always be connected especially in heart.

I thought about what I had just seen and read. I thought about it seemed like he never came back, never looked for the box. This was the part of me that knew the reality that not very man made it back. But the romantic side of me thought that he did make it back and was fine and was so in love with her and happy to be back that he went straight to her forgetting about the box.  I decided to go with the latter idea. I also decided to rebury the box. Knowing that by now they would both have been dead for many years.  I reburied it so just in case their spirits wanted to visit it they could.

I am... Raven

I am…

A daughter, a granddaughter, a niece, and a friend. 

Raised on pleases and thank yous and especially ‘no elbows on the table, napkin in your lap’ type manners.

A friend, who misses the walks that probably weren’t the safest, the Easy Bake oven my friend had, and the air hockey table on the screened-in back porch. The complaints we shared after school was over for the day.

The Uno and Guess Who games of family game time. I am the laughs, the smiles, the hugs shared among mother and daughter. The treats we shared.  The time we would share in the kitchen. The love we have as mother and daughter. I am the deals made on who would load or unload the dishwasher.

 A high school senior who has made it this far, surviving the past three years in an overcrowded school. Where I learned of my love of baking and my disdain for slow people in the hallway, and kind of how to deal with others. The assemblies so looked forward to for the reason to get out of class, only to find out I would still have to go to class for longer than I wanted.

I am…

Brownies, cookies, and all things dessert. I am the birthday cake had every so often. I am the cheesecake that sold for the highest price at a charity bake goods auction that made everyone seem to up their game for the next round. I am the family recipe: chocolate sheet cake, and the chocolate-peanut butter rice crispy treats. The Betty Crocker cookbook that has been in the family for ages.

The old off-white sofa with floral designs replaced by a plush dark brown one. The “popcorn” bowl that has been retired into just another mixing bowl for some years now. Figurines of our favorite dog breeds and other animals.

An old but fairly well kept doll that my mother got for me when I was only two. The hand-painted Russian nesting doll, a different design on each one for the world's most loved daughter. The picture books we would share, the bagged and boxed and well-loved notes of a loving mother; one for each day I would be gone on a trip.

The binders filled with pictures and memories.

The unfinished projects forgotten. The books left unread.

The girl who will stay in bed and not get up for as long as possible.

The world’s cutest hamsters, Pickles, Chips, and Polly. The ting of food being shoved around in the ceramic food bowl by noses and feet. 

I am…

Dark brown eyes and lighter than my momma's skin. Light blonde hair that keeps getting darker and darker, that lays pretty straight.

Of average height, with slight curves.

T-shirts and comfy pants and flip flops.

not 16, but still too young to buy stuff off of infomercials and legally sign a contract.

Older, happy, loved, I have endured and preserved.