wasn’t regularly used. It stood away from the ballfields, far from the worn cement paths.
I stood beneath it for a moment, admiring its beauty. Then I turned my back on it, pointed my nose at the distant swing-set, and counted out ten measured steps.
Tiny steps, Kayla. Your feet were smaller, remember?
I chuckled, remembering how important this all seemed at the time. How incredibly excited I was that we were burying a real treasure, just like the pirates did.
After ten steps I spun on my heel, swung out my arm, and pointed my fingers like a gun at the soccer field’s metal goalposts. They were still old, still rusty. But I was banking on the idea that they hadn’t been moved.
Ten more. Or was it twelve?
It had been a long time. Maybe too long, and the sands of time had obscured my memory.
I counted out the little girl steps, then buried the shovel in the soft earth. It was easy digging. The ground was saturated, and the blade sank easily without much effort.
How deep was it?
When I was young, my father had dug the hole. He probably went deep, figuring he’d be the one to dig it up later on. He had no way of knowing that would never happen. That it would be me coming back, here some twenty years later. All alone.
THUNK.
Hope soared at the sound of metal striking wood. It could’ve been a root. Or it could’ve been something else entirely.
A time capsule. Just for us.
I dug some more, moving faster, widening the hole. Trying to remember how big it needed to be, in order to bury—
“Oh my God…”
I sank to my knees, scraping away the mud that was quickly forming inside the hole. And there it was: the tiny wooden box. Faded and filthy, but still marked with the big pink chrysanthemum. I dug around it, loosening the dirt before popping it free. It opened on rusted hinges. Inside, the Ziploc bag my mother had given us was still sealed.
Abandoning my plan to take it back to the car, I tore it open. Inside I saw the treasures we’d buried: various trinkets and baubles that would only be important to a seven-year old girl. There was a stuffed mouse. A pair of plastic beaded bracelets, and a 25-cent bubblegum machine ruby ring.
I pushed past the coins I’d insisted on putting in there — pennies mostly — so my future self ‘would have lots of money’. My father had added a dollar and it was still there, causing the lump in my throat to form again. This time I didn’t fight it. Same thing for the tears.
C’mon… c’mon…
Beneath the rubber dolphin, past the two little Fisher Price figures I’d sacrificed for the cause, I saw the object of my search: a Play Doh container with a bright pink top. My hands trembled as I popped it open, and shook out the contents into my palm. Even in the dying light, it gleamed like the day I’d buried it:
A heart-shaped locket on a long silver chain.
Tears streamed down both sides of my face now. They joined the rain, dripping off the sides of my cheeks as I pulled the locket around my neck and engaged the clasp. It fit perfectly, not like a little girl’s locket at all. And that’s because it was my mother’s locket.
“Hi, mom.”
She’d handed it to me with a smile the day we buried the capsule, taking it off her own neck in the kitchen. I remembered her words too, when I’d tried to protest. She’d told me it was okay, and that we’d see the locket again soon. That it would be even more special to dig it up and wear it later on, when I got a little older.
Somehow I let out a happy laugh, as the drizzle turned into a downpour. The silver locket gleamed as I cradled it in my palm. I took a full minute to stare at it, just marveling at its beauty.
Then I dropped it back to my chest, and let myself cry.
Eight
KAYLA
Of the many things that had changed in North Glade, there were also a few that hadn’t. So when it came down to ending my long, emotional day, I was glad to see that the Lucky Spot was still the same.
The interior seemed a little brighter and more in line with the times, and none of the bartenders I knew were still around. Still, all five of us had been sneaking in here since we were