In Case You Forgot

They say everyone has a box. You know the one with all your hopes and dreams? I lost mine.

One day, I found it in the attic. My younger self had scribbled "wait until spring" on a note and duct taped it to the top. The whole box was taped shut.

I remembered then. I’d packed the box the day before my thirteenth birthday.

I flicked my knife open, cut through the duct tape, and wriggled the lid off. A stack of papers awaited inside. The top one simply said:

"In case you forgot."

I forgot.

I kept digging. Found a poem about stars. A short story about treasure. Plans for a treehouse.

I never did build my treehouse. Well. Not exactly. I built one like it when the boys were young.

I never wrote about the stars. Wait. No. My first novel was all about the stars.

Never found treasure. Unless you count my wife and kids.

Last note read, “Put back for next time, and don't forget.”

I resealed the box with fresh duct tape. As I was hiding the box for next time, I noticed my young handwriting on the bottom:

"Have you found the other box?"