I Found A Leather-Bound Case In A Tree And I Really Wish I Had Never Found It
By the beginning of my senior year, my parents were as worried about me as they had ever been. Their formerly well-adjusted son had been spiraling out of control for months now as they watched helplessly, not knowing what to say or do for a child who had experienced a trauma like mine, and they didn’t know the half of what I was really feeling. Eventually my dad took it upon himself to do something. He began to find excuses to take me places and do things with me as much as he could. Although I would protest feebly, he would insist and my nights and weekends became filled with laser tag, movies, golf, and other activities with dad. Although I would have never admitted it then, his efforts did actually bring me some relief, and I began to feel a little better spending time with him.
Later on in senior year, I managed to make a few friends who showed me the wonders of pot and beer. Again the drawings took a back burner as I filled my life with a new sort of meaning, a meaningless meaning made up of half-remembered nights of beer pong and sloppy hookups. These things dulled the pain to the point where I could forget about the pencils almost entirely. By this time there were only four left, and I managed to leave these final four alone. When I went off to college these pencils did finally find a home forgotten in a box, the dark leather pencil case being lugged around with other high school memorabilia that I never got rid of, but never really looked at either.
And that’s where the pencils stayed for years. Until a few weeks ago. I was moving across country, packing my life up into two suitcases so I could fly thousands of miles to start a new job. I emptied countless old boxes, throwing a lot away, packing other things up to live in my parents’ garage until further notice. When I came across the pencils, I hesitated, unsure of what to do. Eventually, the thought of one of my parents finding them somehow in the piles of junk I would soon be leaving behind became too much for me to bear and I decided to take them with me. It was stupid, stupid, I know. When I arrived at my destination, I waited at the baggage claim for my suitcases, but only one of them appeared. I became anxious, and badgered the airport staff who calmly explained that my other piece of luggage had gone missing and that they were doing everything they could.
When I got to the hotel I tore through my one bag desperately, but I already knew. The pencils were gone. They were in the missing bag. For days I hoped that the missing bag would reappear but it hasn’t. It’s gone and the airline officials don’t know where it is now. Yesterday, I received a check from the airline to recompense for my missing things. I don’t care about the money, all that matters is that now those pencils are out there somewhere, and that any day now someone could find them.
So, I beg of you with all that I am that if you read this and you care at all then please, please don’t pick up pencils that you find.