A 10 years Journey

"Next time I see you, will be 10 years after."

I dug a deep hole and covered the black box with soil. Planted some peppermint trees around the soil as marking and walked away.

My heart wondered as I walked my way home.

10 years… will it be too late? Or should I never dig it out? The first time I put something into a time capsule. Feel like it’s a terrible idea after all.

"How's your journey?" My brother Leo asked.

"Not too bad”. I said, tried hard to not show my emotions.

"Don't think about it. Once you buried it, it already becomes a legend."

"Okay." I nodded. Thinking about myself 10 years after. What would be my reactions when I dig out that box?

"Did you let anyone knows you are going to the forest this morning?"

"No, not a single person or animal." I looked at Leo when answering the question.

“Great.” Leo says in a deep-down voice. The sudden change of atmosphere caught my attention.

“Never ever tell anyone or let anyone put their shits in your box. Also, never ever dig out the box within 10 years.”

“I know, Leo. You already said that a thousand times.”

Leo smiled.

“This is a journey. You just set out your first step.”

What I put inside the capsule.

The thing in the black box. The seal on it. Only my brother and I know what was inside. It was a secret. Because we don’t trust anyone. Anyone can have a bastard living deep inside themselves. Anyone.

I buried the box when I was 8.

Now I backed to the place where I buried the black box 10 years ago. The forest near my house. There’s where I grow up.

I struggled a lot, both physically and mentally, to convince myself it's not a big deal. I won't die if I don't dig it out. I won’t die if I dig it out, too. It is not like someone has cursed either me or the box. I have nothing to afraid. What really drove me here is my curiosity. The questions deep inside my heart kept popping up to my head.

"How is the box?"

"Has wild boar dug it out and eaten it?"

"Will it be looking exactly the same as the day I covered it with soil?"

"What if I dig it out after another 10 years? I mean, that's legal right?"

All in all, I was standing here. The place I buried it. 10 years ago.

The peppermint trees I planted 10 years ago. Some of them didn't make it until I come.

Brushes and trees I never seen 10 years ago.

The only things that were same in my remembrance were the atmosphere and the feeling of the soil.

I started digging.

One shove after another. I dug, dug, and dug.

"Clang!”

I stopped. Put off my glove and uncovered what was under with my bare hand.

The excitement, the fear, the uncertainty. I can feel it from my heart. Those feelings almost engulfed me. Different emotions kept surging from my heart. I gasped heavily for breath.

Finally, it appeared in front of me. The black box. The black box sealed with black tape. The black box sealed with black tape sized about 2 of my palm.

I was holding it.

"Yeah, finally."

I held it with shivering hand.

It looked exactly the same as 10 years ago. Not erosion, not holes, just some dirty soil upon it.

I touched it cover, tried to open it.

"God damn it!" I forgot to bring scissors.

I tore, I pulled, I cut the tape using my nails. Like an animal, wildly. Like a maniac, insanely.

I threw away all the tape. I can see the box itself. Black.

Slowly open the black box. I saw a glass jar.

What's inside is my right hand.

I lost it when I was 8. 10 years ago.

"Hi, my friend, how’s your day these years?"

The small little hand, in dark brown solution. Painting a creepy image with the black box. My right hand. In a glass jar. Leo had put some medical preservative liquid in it. Formalin, I believe.

I looked at it. Memories surged. All my childhood memories.

 I remembered how I smashed the ball using my right hand. I remembered I will get myself a cup of milk from the refrigerator every morning using my right hand. I remembered writing using my right hand. I remembered….and now I done everything using my left hand.

I know why Leo insisted me to put my hand in the black box 10 years ago, which he called it the time capsule. He knew I won’t get over if my right hand is with me when I grow up; in a way it’s not part of my body but a decoration on the shelves. The shade of losing a hand will haunt me and every time when I went back home the hand in the jar on the shelves will remind me: “You are a cripple.”

There do have some dump kids asking: “Where is your right hand?” “Why you are different from us?”

I will bring back the question to my brother: “Leo, why they keep asking me where is my right hand?” “Why they say I am different from them?”

Leo is undoubtedly the best brother around the world.

“You have your left hand, my little brother.”

“My left hand?”

“Yeah.” He will stand in front of me and squat down, holding my left hand.

“You have your left hand. And that’s enough. You can do everything using your left hand. Don’t let people misguide you. You are the same as the others. Always. And you are perfect in my eyes.”

His keen blue eye looked straight into my heart. I could see the sadness and determination in his eyes. Pushing me to step forward. Every time I stopped in front of an obstacle, Leo’s voice resounded as if nearby my ears.

“You can do it, my little brother. Trust yourself. Have faith and never forget I am with you. I am always here.”

Well, even reality didn’t make me grow up smoothly as fairy tales, I did grow up imagining myself like other normal boys. Just I switched from right-handed into left-handed. And now I was here. Standing exactly the same place that I stood 10 years ago but I was no longer the little boy.

"Time to get you home."

I closed the box. Covered the hole I dug 10 years ago. Holding the shove and the box with my left hand then I walked away. Just like 10 years ago. But this time, with relief.