I came home to help my mother pack up her life, but also to keep a promise I made under a treehouse 30 years ago. I thought opening that old time capsule would bring back wholesome childhood memories. Instead, I found rumors, warnings… and a reason to hesitate.
I pulled into the driveway of my childhood home, and despite the weight of burnout and disconnection, part of me was quietly thrilled. Not because I was home, but because today was the day. Thirty years had passed since my childhood best friend, Jonah, and I had buried a time capsule under my tree house.
We’d promised to dig it up together today, and I wanted to keep that promise. “Ellie! You made it!” she called out.
“Of course, I did.” I grabbed a box from the car and joined her on the porch. “Are you sure about this, Mom? Do you really want to live in an assisted living facility?”
“Bernice told me the yoga instructor is a 30-year-old divorcé with forearms like a movie star.
I may have arthritis, but I’m not dead,” Mom replied. “Besides, I heard the wine flows like tap water and someone’s always got a scandal.”
“Don’t throw out the red photo album,” she said, perched on the bed. “That’s where I keep the good blackmail.”
“But do you want to take it with you?”
Mom shook her head.
“It should go into storage… just in case.”
I dutifully packed up books and ornaments, but I couldn’t stop glancing out the window at the treehouse in the backyard. After an hour, I stepped outside to get some air while Mom made tea. I walked over to the treehouse and stared up at it.
It was crooked and weathered. The wood had grayed and splintered, and the rope ladder had all but rotted away. At the base of the tree, half-buried in dirt and fallen leaves, I found the stone marking the spot we’d buried the time capsule: a flat rock, gray and worn smooth by time.
I prodded the rock with my toe. I only half-remembered most of the things we’d buried; a photo of Jonah and me, a toy or two, maybe some candy, but only one item had real importance. The last thing Jonah placed in the time capsule was a small brass key.
He’d started wearing it on a chain around his neck after his mother died. When I asked if he was sure he wanted to put it in the time capsule, he said something I’ll never forget. “It’s the key to my future, my way out.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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