Home a day early from Cape Cod, I reflect on the things we left behind.
10. A television remote with a missing battery cover that only works when the batteries are spun while changing channels.
9. A baby dragonfly, stuck between two window panes, avoiding the sentinel spider guarding the only passage to freedom.
8. A plastic shovel, half-buried in sand, forgotten by an overweight child who accidentally ditched it after catching wind of plans to get ice cream after the beach.
7. A rare edition buffalo nickel, worth over fifty dollars, left in a bedside drawer where it was meant to be kept safe until the owner travelled home, and where it was kept safe long after that time passed.
6. A locked bicycle chain, attached to a public bike rack, with the only person knowing its combination long gone.
5. An empty bag of kettle cooked potato chips, apparently bobbing on the surface of a manmade lake, but actually caught on a log which is itself bobbing.
4. Fried clams, dropped underneath a picnic table, soon to be carried away by a band of ambitious ants.
3. A brochure for a $2.00 t-shirt outlet, thrown away out a car window on Route 6.
2. Half a jelly donut, resting on a display counter, stale and crusting from years exposed to the salty air of a bayside coffee shop.
1. The memories of a five year old boy, faded and replaced by action movies and special effects, to be restored fifteen years later on a family trip to the same locale.
Inspired, in part, by the This American Life episode, Plan B.
poetic. nostalgia is always a bit depressing for me
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