An apology to old friends

As I continued my quest to rid myself of unnecessary rubbish yesterday, I came upon my coveted note box from back in the day. My note box, or treasure trove as I liked to refer to it, was no ordinary box. No, it was a wooden chest-like box that was once refurbished into a walk-in-closet for my many beautiful Barbie dolls. (Seriously, my mom and I decorated the inside with wallpaper and mirrors and shit.) It had a key and everything.

Anyway, in this new sort-of cleansing phase, I decided that I really should just let go and throw out my sacred box of notes. It was a tough decision, but I figured that all the memories I need are safely tucked away in my brain (and/or heart for all of you softies out there). So what could be the harm?

Hmmm. Turns out, I didn’t really think this one through.

A took the trash out in the early evening hours. About an hour later, a trash picker pulled up in front of our home.

Garbed in a wife-beater and covered with tattoos, this gentleman (who looked as if he had not showered since the first full bloom of Spring) started picking through our waste as if he was unearthing the world’s next great treasure. Gone were the ugly lights we bought to illuminate our walking path. Gone was the framed sea otter picture I bought at Meijer to cover my bare walls in my college apartment.

With every throw into his beat up pickup, I felt myself questioning why I decided to let such gems go.

Then, it happened. He reached for my treasure trove of notes. I immediately felt myself cringe. Why had I not emptied the actual notes into a garbage bag and thrown the box out separately?!

As he struggled for a good five minutes to open the chest with the key that was so secretively tied to the top of the box, I thought, “perhaps he’ll give up and just put the box back down.”

No such luck. In no time flat, I watched four years of memories get thrown into some dirty guy’s pickup. I’ve never felt so violated.

So, to all of my close friends, ex-boyfriends and acquaintances from my dear high school years who often wrote notes to me, I feel I owe you an apology. Not only are my thoughts and antics probably being laughed at today, but so are yours. By a dirty guy. In a dirty pickup.

Photo can be found at http://www.modernprimitive.com/images/kalish/kalish04.jpg.