Now that Miss Sally and little Ann are spending a good amount of time together, Greg and I have become dependant upon each other. He used to request Miss Sally 75% of the time to read books before bed and tuck him in. Now he gets daddy 100% of the time. We are both geting used to it.

Children’s books are two pages away from being depressing stories of real life. Happily ever after glosses over therapy necessary to get over seeing a woodsman kill a talking wolf. They never go into that.

So here’s something to depress the shit out of you if you are familiar with the story.

**** *******


I opened the cigar box and it creaked as the duct tape hinge relented. It smelled of cigars and dust and oddly enough, fabric softener.

I didn’t mean to find the box and it didn’t need me to find it. The objects inside were used up; meant only to be used as fodder for faint memories or dreams that are gone by morning. There was a folded award for attendance. A snail shell filled with wax. There was the base of a trophy for bowling. There was a love note and a photo of a dog named Kid. A ball bearing and a marble, both the same size. A nail and a safety pin. A silver dollar with a bullet hole through it. Three buffalo nickels wrapped with yellowed tape.

These things removed with a shaky hand and set on the carpet of the closet. I am old now and have no use for such memories and I am grumpy that I ever opened the box. I tipped the box sideways to scoop back up the memories when the last something fell out.

The interior of the box was brown and matched the color of the darkish, lumpish thing. It was easy to miss. Held up in the 60 watt light, it looked like a ball of mud that had dried into a stone. It was warm. And then I remembered…

The Truffula seed.

I had always planned on planting it once I found a place. There was no easy place for the Truffula seed. But there were video games and football practice and girls named Stephanie and Angie. There was no time to look for the exact proper place and to spend the time watering and caring. I had apples to pick and houses to build and boats to carve. It was too big a task and easier to forget.

I pocketed the three nickels. Scooped up all the trash and closed the box. Then put the cigar box back up on the shelf behind the slide projector.

Unless. Useless.

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