Treasure in a Briefcase

  

We started cleaning out our basement the other day, and I quickly realized this wasn’t going to be a Saturday afternoon project. It was more like a long term archaeological dig, complete with dirt, dust, and relics from a long lost  civilization, circa 1987. 

Our basement has become the official storage unit for everything we couldn’t  part with: toys (old and new), tools (useful and otherwise), gas cans, car parts, Christmas decorations, quilts, and boxes labeled “Important Papers”, which were tax returns from the seventies.  Apparently the Statue of Limitations expires before my wife’s filing system does. 

Our basement is full of postponed decisions. 

As we sorted through decades of accumulated treasures, or junk, depending on who was doing the evaluating, my  wife picked up an old leather briefcase.

“What are we going to do with this?” she asked.

It was moldy from years of sitting beside the air-conditioning unit.

“I’ll decide later,” I said.

“You’re not going to clean the mold off and sell it for a huge profit, are you?”

“No,” I admitted. “I just wanted you to stop asking.”

I recognized it immediately. It was the briefcase I carried during my years in sales.

Opening an old briefcase is a lot like opening a treasure chest. You never really know what’s inside. Most of it’s useless, but every so often you find something that pulls you back to another place and time.  

I popped the latches. Lying in front of me was a small stack of papers that made me smile. They were drawings my granddaughter Rilynne had made when she was four - ten years ago. 

One particular piece of her art caught my attention. She had done it with a light green marker. 

 

I’m sure it was refrigerator-worthy in its day. But now I couldn’t tell what it was: a dog, a dinosaur, or perhaps a giraffe. 

It had a potato-shaped body  with random green splotches, a square ear, and what appeared to be a tail.

I turned it over and gasped. There was a note of explanation in my handwriting from ten years ago. Tears immediately began rolling down my cheeks.

“This is Precious - Rilynne drew this for her grieving granddaddy - April 2017.”

I remembered her giving me that drawing soon after the loss of my beloved bird dog Precious.

In typical four-year old fashion, she didn’t know how to take away my pain.

She just knew that her Granddaddy was hurting and wanted to do something. 

I photographed this piece of art and sent a text to my 14-year-old granddaughter: 

“Look close. $10 if you can tell me what this is and why you drew it for me.”

I got a quick response. At that age, they are always close to their phones.

     “is that Precious, or a    

        giraffe?”

“It is indeed Precious. But more information is required.”

      “i have no more info 

        is she getting a ball or 

        something?”

“You drew this for a grieving Granddaddy after Precious died.”

       “aww

        i drew one like   

        everyday for you right 

        after she died”  

“Still makes me tear up.” 

I wasn’t lying. I could barely text her back. 

       “i drew them on sticky 

         notes too i know.”

Then in typical teen age fashion said,

        “i think i should get 

          half credit since i 

          knew what it was.”

“Well, since you reminded me that you drew one for me every day, you win.”

Then I joked, “That was when you loved your Granddaddy.”

At four years old, we were inseparable. Then she became a teenager, and I thought those years were behind me. I was wrong. She’s growing up, and they have just changed.

       “i still love you.”

“I know.”

It’s the best ten dollars I’ve spent in a long time.

It would’ve been a bargain at ten times the price.

The irony of it all struck me later that evening. In cleaning out junk, I found a treasure.  

This one is going back up on my refrigerator.