Children

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THE SECRET OF THE BOX

It had lain in the old shed, hidden in the far corner of the rafters. Beneath layered dust
and dirt the little box concealed its treasure. No one expected its existence and no one
would have thought to have ventured to that dusty tiny corner, until….

“Let’s play hide and seek.” Terry said questioningly.

“Ok,” Linda responded and so Jim, John and Sharon agreed as well.

I was the oldest but Linda seemed to always (most of the time) held the final vote.

“I know, let’s play kick the can, that’s always more fun than just hide and seek.” Linda
added.

So it was that we would play kick the can- though it was best to play it after dark, we
were going to play it during the day. So it would the fleet of foot that would be the
deciding factor.

“Who’s going to it first?” Terry asked.

In unison every finger pointed right at Terry and all spoke, “You!”

“Close your eyes and count to one hundred.” Jim commanded.

“Wait,” Linda yelled, and ran to the garbage can, rummaged through the garbage and
came out holding a can. She placed on the ground and said, “Ok, now close your eyes
and count.” With that said everyone scattered in every direction imaginable.

Terry sat down, placed his face in his hands and with a sigh began to count to one
hundred.

“95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, here I come ready or not.” It seemed strange every time he
said it, he seemed to old for such an expression. After all he was now 11 but the other
kids were all younger than him.

His parents expected him to play with his sister and her friends, so he did. He even
learned to enjoy it, most of the time.

Terry stood to his feet and slowly turned in a complete circle. His eyes and mind
captured every place that the others may have ventured to hide. As he started his
second revolution his attention was captured by the delapidated shed behind at the back
edge of the vacant lot next to his house.

The old shed appeared to list to the right side; it was the brush and tree limbs that
surrounded it that seemed to keep it upright.

 
It had always been a mystery to us kids. No one knew who owned it. It was just an
abandoned, lonely old shed. To us kids it was a source of many scary and frightening
stories, mostly concocted by our picturesque imaginations.

Today was no different, I was not about to search its boarders and doubted that any of
us would even venture close to hide in the shadows of its bushes and trees.

But something was happening inside my head. I stood there staring and feeling a
drawing I could not identify.

I was brought to consciousness when I heard the can bouncing along the ground and a
chorus of laughter behind me.

Turning there stood everyone. They were laughing at me not because of me. It was at
that moment I knew that the shed and I were of kindred spirits, lonely and the brunt of
the jokes or imaginary stories.

I remember calmly turning face red with embracement but a silent knowing that I would
be visiting my new found refuge soon.

I turned my shoulders and stared back at the other for just a moment, without a word I
strode home with a since of freedom I could not describe.

******************************************

Three days later I sat in the bushes hidden from view with my back resting against the
shed. From this vantage point it did not seem so rickety, or flimsy.

“Well old shed what secrets do you really hold? Whose are you and just how long have
you been sitting here?”

Of course I had no expectations of getting an answer, none the less I would speak the
shed and then listen closely and step inside and look for messages written in the dust.
No sound other than the wind and only swirling dust on windy days. When I would walk
across the floor there would be creeks and groans of the boards and I would listen
closely to try and make words of the sounds.

I stopped playing with the other kids and they had stopped asking what was wrong and
came to accept that I wanted to be alone. Even Linda stopped bugging me and resigned
herself to my absence.

It wasn’t that I stop talking to the other kids but I just avoided long periods of time with
them. For this time it was the shed and I – Why? I would find out after about three
months of visiting and lounging in and around the shed.

I knew the others thought I had gone bonkers, because I started calling the shed, Pete.

“Terry, you want to play football with us?”

 
“No, I’m going over to Pete’s.”

I could tell by their stares and the shaking of their heads what they were thinking. I felt
that it was better than their laughter at my expense.

I have no idea why, but one day I decided to put the interior into a semblance of order.

After starting to stack the loose boards, ran home and returned with a face mask from
my dad’s work shop, the dust was awful; it was like working in a fog or low hanging
clouds.

“Pete, what is this all about? You don’t have to be cleaned up and I don’t have to be
breathing in all this dust.”

Pete never answered back, at least not for another week. Pete was getting closer to
revealing its secret.

By the time I got home I was a dust ball. If it had sprinkled I would have been a mud
ball. I stopped at dad’s shop and used his Toro leaf blower to force the dust off. It was
good that I had opened the window and door; the breeze channeled the dust right out
the door still I had to clean out the tub following my shower.

******************************************

“Hey, Terry you want to ride out to the beach with us?” Sharon asked.

Without hesitation I said, “Yes!”

I ran to the backyard and retrieved my bicycle.

I hadn’t done a whole lot with Jim, John and Sharon for a long time, it surprised them I
said yes. It took us about a half hour to get to the beach. We had to push our bikes
through the loose sand but when we got to the wet sand we were able to ride again.

We raced along the beach, the tide was coming in so we rode in the shallow flow of tide
water. Our backs were splattered with water and sand but we didn’t mind.

John was the best rider. He would race along the beach at full speed take both hands
off the bike and hold them out yelling “I’m flying, I’m flying.” The rest of us hung on for
dear life as we raced just behind him.

I let go of my bike handles threw my arms out and yelled, “Me too.” But just as quickly
bring my hands back to the handle bars.

We stopped, looking out over the ocean we just smiled. We loved the beach and the
sound of the waves.

 
Jim suggested that we see how many sand dollars we could find. We took our bikes up
to the loose sand let them drop and became a four man search party. We didn’t care
who found the sand dollars we just enjoyed finding them.

Like always, our search expanded into a collection of all unbroken shells that could be
found. Sharon pulled a plastic grocery sack from her fanny pack. She was the one that
prepared. Jim, John and I never seemed to think about bringing something along to
carry the shells back to town.

Sharon’s mom had a gift shop and sold the nicer shells, and the shells that we found
were always taken home by Sharon. When we would go into her shop we would always
to the sea shell shelves and make the claim, “I found that one.” Or “I remember that
one.”

This day was a great shell day. But it also held another surprise for us. As we searched
the shore line we found a bottle. It had a cork in the top but it was so sandy we couldn’t
see inside. Jim waded out to his ankles and washed it off, holding it up toward the sky
he turned toward us,

“Hey, this bottle has a note inside.”

We didn’t even wait, we plowed out into the water and passed the bottle from person to
person, we twisted the bottle, held it upside down, sideways but we could not make out
any writing.

“Let’s break the bottle and see what is says.”

“No, let’s take the cork out and see if we can shake the note out.”

Sharon suggested, “Let’s take it home and my mother can get the note out so we can
read it, we might want to put the note back inside and place it in the shop as a
decoration, you know a conversation piece.”

With our shells in the bag, and the bottle safely tucked inside my coat, I had an inside
pocket it just fit in, we headed for the shop.

It was one of those times we made it in record time.

Sharon’s mom got her corkscrew and in a few minutes after arriving we were reading
the note, or I should say we were listening as Sharon’s mother read it aloud.

“If your reading this note then you have found my bottle. The only treasure this note
contains is my name and address, I am,”

Ted Olsen Peterson

4534 W Fish Street

West Port, WA

 
“I am in a wheel chair because I can’t walk. The doctor says I had Polio when I was a
baby and will never be able to walk. I let my wheels do my walking. The other kids
around here don’t have time for me because I can’t climb the rocks on the jetty or run
through the sand along the sea shore.”

“So I am looking for a pen pal. I will only know if you find my bottle if you write, please
write me.”

“I am twelve years old and I love puzzles, and all kinds of board games.”

Ted

Sharon blurted out, “I’ll write him!”

I said, “Let’s all write him and put it all in one envelop.” So that’s what we did.

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