by Don P. Bick
sule
3 short stories
By
Don P. Bick
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Don P. Bick
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Also by Don P. Bick
Novels
In The Next Life
The Dragon is Awake
Latitude 37
Lotus Isle: Book I - Key the First: The Vulcan’s Price
Lotus Isle: Book II - Key the Second: The Giver of Life
Memoir
The Boy Died In Vietnam
Short Stories
Ashes
I Await
Time Capsule
New Life - A Collection of Love
Essays
Life after Death?
Other
In Our Dream
Author’s Note:
Table of Contents
1. Time Capsule
2. Trash Day
3. Loneliness
4. About the author
Time Capsule
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It was hard to believe, fifty years had already passed! Trisha stood beside her long time husband, who was also her best friend, at the ceremony. The time capsule would be removed and opened in a few minutes. Yes, it was difficult to think that so many years had gone by.
Trisha fondly remembered the day the metal tube had been placed in the ground near the flagpole. There had been a ceremony that day too, and Trisha had been the student in charge of collecting a piece of memorabilia from each of the students in her fifth grade history class. She had also been the one who had closed the lid on the capsule, sealing it for the next fifty years.
Each of the students contributed something to the project: a photo, a note, a newspaper clipping, a favorite memento of some kind. There had been twenty-three fifth graders in the class. Some had simply given a cherished child’s ring or other piece of jewelry they owned; probably making the decision at the last minute, because they had either forgotten the assignment or didn’t bother trying to come up with a creative idea on their own. Trisha had chosen to write a secret letter, secret because not one other person in the entire world knew what she had written on that single sheet of paper. She knew it would be safe from discovery for five full decades, and then it wouldn’t matter if the letter was exposed. Actually it hadn’t mattered for many years, but when she was young she thought it important for the words she had put to paper to remain secret for all of the fifty years the container would be in the ground. She had sealed up the envelope and placed it inside the capsule with all the other small items and treasures. Trisha stood there in the morning sunshine with a smile gracing her lips. She recalled exactly what she had written that day, all those years ago.
Trisha had forgotten all about the capsule and letter over the years, life has a way of doing that to everyone. What with raising the kids, working, making ends meet; tending to parents, relatives and so many other things, it is pretty easy to forget what we did when we were in the fifth grade. So it came as a pleasant surprise when she opened mail from the school a week earlier and discovered that fifty years had passed. It was time to pull the capsule from its long resting place. She had been asked to officiate at the ceremony. And everyone that had been a part of that class had been invited as well, although there were several that had passed on or were unable to attend for one reason or another. Some of these would be represented by a spouse or one of their children. Others couldn’t be found, their fate unknown.
Blaine, her husband, hadn’t been part of the project, but as always agreed to be by her side that morning. He stood next to her looking sideways at her face with an undisguised look of love, a love that had only gotten stronger over the years. Trisha, at age 60, was still a beautiful woman. She had always been, he thought, remembering how she looked as one of the school’s cheerleaders in college. He recalled one particular memory at that moment. He and the team had been running out onto the football field for a home game. She had been his only focus as he ran past her heading for the bench on the sidelines, and it appeared he had been hers, as well. He didn’t remember the game or anything else that night, only the moment when their eyes had met, a mere second in time. They had been dating then. The picture of that single event was etched upon his memory for all time, and hopefully beyond. He smiled at the remembrance.
It was time. The gathering was small, less than 60 people had attended. Most of those from the school, the teachers and administrators that had been involved with the project were no longer around, it had been too many years for all but two ladies, They were both present and in their late 70’s. They stood side-by-side with smiles on their faces, lost in their own personal memories of the past.
When the clock struck 10 am, the exact same time the capsule had been sealed into the ground fifty years before, Trisha gave the go ahead to the two men that had uncovered the container from its long held concrete burial. They lifted the metal tube from the ground and placed it on the table before her. There was a smattering of applause from the assembled group.
Even though the container had been well sealed, it was encased with a thick layer of rust. Moisture had still gotten to the metal. Trisha wondered if the contents inside had been damaged or destroyed. It would be a real shame if they had, but there wasn’t a thing that could be done about it now. Donning the gloves she had been given by the school, she picked up the dirty tube and tried to pry open the 4 clamps around the lid, they wouldn’t budge, rust had fused them shut, probably permanently. Expecting this possibility, one of the two men that had removed the capsule from the ground stepped forward with a small pair of bolt cutters. He quickly and easily cut off the rusty fasteners.
With the clamps released Trisha used a screwdriver and pried open the lid. It had been sealed with a piece of rubber, which still seemed intact and sealed. A big smile broke across her face when she looked inside and saw that everything seemed to be just as it had been when she closed the capsule all those years ago. She told this to the awaiting crowd. They all cheered and clapped, while moving closer to the table to get a better look.
Trisha reached inside and removed each item, one at a time. Every time something new was pulled out and displayed, the group applauded. The person responsible for that item would reveal themselves, always to a new round of applause. Of course, many of the items remained unclaimed; the fifth grader who had donated it wasn’t there. Some of the family members of those students didn’t have any idea what their mother or father had contributed to the project, and they would need the combined help of those students in attendance to figure it out. After the ceremony all the items would be put on display in a glass case at the public library, a short walk down the road from the school.
Some of the students had placed pictures of themselves into the capsule, which brought more smiles and laughter from the group, especially one photo. The young boy had prominent ears sticking out away from his head. Doctor Hanson it was, and he was present that morning. Looking completely normal now, he joined the fun and ribbing from his fellow classmates when the picture was presented. Happiness was mingled with a few tears, as memories of one thing or another would strike an ex-student or family member. The tears among those present were seldom tears of sadness, but based on a fond remembrance of their youth, or perhaps a departed loved one who couldn’t be there on that day.
Too soon the rest of the objects in the container were brought out into the light of day. All were examined, displayed and talked about. All that is, except one. A single envelope remained inside the tube. Trisha had left it for last. The paper had faded somewhat with age, but the lettering on the outside was just as plain as could be. It was obviously in the handwriting of a fifth grader, and not one with the best penmanship, either, Trisha picked it up and immediately tears began to flow down her face. Concerned, her husband stepped forward to see if she was ok.
“I’m fine,” she told him, her mouth curved upward into a mysterious smile, while tears continued to roll down her cheeks. “This letter is from me. I was just thinking about what I wrote fifty years ago.” A little louder she said there was one more item, a letter from her. And she would like to read it to everyone.
She held up the envelope for all to see. The writing on the front said: To Blaine Russell…from Trisha