The Time Capsule (11 page)

TWENTY

On graduation day at the Miami-Dade Civic Center, in a class of 513 seniors walking two by two, Alexis Chappel walked alone. Dressed in a navy blue cap and gown, she carried a single long-stemmed white rose. Tessa, Glory and Charmaine had given it to her in the staging area to carry in Adam’s memory. The graduation program offered a brief paragraph about losing Adam to cancer, which the principal read from the podium. When her name was called, Alexis walked across the stage and took her certificate from Mrs. Wiley, who shook her hand and beamed her a congratulatory smile. The debate team had finished second in the state tournament, but it was losing only two seniors—Alexis and Tessa—and there was always next year.

Her parents took her to dinner afterward. She told Tessa and Sawyer that she’d meet them at the graduation party at Charmaine’s house later. All through the meal, the empty space at the restaurant table for four seemed especially poignant. No one mentioned it.

When dessert was served—crème brûlée; her favorite—her father handed her a gift bag and placed a large, heavy manila envelope on the table. “The goodie bag’s from me and your mother.”

Alexis removed a small velvet box, raised the lid and discovered an exquisite pair of diamond stud earrings. “Oh my gosh! They’re beautiful!”

“There’s a bracelet that goes with them when you graduate from college, and a necklace when you’ve passed the bar,” her father said.

“You’ll spoil the surprise,” Eleanor chided.

“Sounds like bribery to me,” Alexis said.

“So call a cop,” her father joked. “Turn me in.” He slid the envelope toward her. “This came last week, but we saved it for you to open today.”

Alexis saw that the return address was Stetson University, Office of Admissions. Her heart raced. “A rejection letter wouldn’t come in an envelope this big, would it?”

“Open it and see,” Eleanor said.

Alexis tore open the packet. Her letter of acceptance was on top. She waved it at her parents. “I’m in!” The other material consisted of financial and housing forms, booklets and pamphlets. “There’s so much
stuff
!”

“Congratulations,” her mother said.

Alexis hugged the sheaf of papers to her. “I thought I’d blown it. I thought that because I didn’t go to state, they wouldn’t consider me.”

“I guess you were wrong,” her father said.

She looked from one parent to the other. They looked happy. She hadn’t thought they’d ever smile again, but now they were smiling, and they looked proud of her. And she was proud of them. They had joined Candle Lighters, a support group for parents who had lost children to cancer. There was a teen support group too, which Alexis was planning to attend. The loss of Adam was fresh and painful, but no amount of tears could bring him back to them. They all had to learn the new math for their family. The four of them had turned into three, and the three would turn to two when Alexis moved away to college.

“We have one other announcement to make,” her mother said.

“I’m listening.”

“Your father and I are setting up a foundation in Adam’s name. Your dad’s doing the paperwork, I’m doing the fund-raising. The goal is to make sure every child who enters a Miami hospital, for whatever reason, gets a brand-new teddy bear to cuddle. We’re calling the foundation Adam’s Boo-Boo Bears. A kid’s age won’t matter, because as you once told us, you’re never too old for a teddy bear.”

Tears welled in Alexis’s eyes. “Never,” she said, remembering the day they’d all worked on Adam’s Christmas project.

Her mother leaned forward, her expression one of eager determination. “I have big plans for the foundation. We’ll raise money to buy toys and other things for the pediatric floors that the hospital can’t afford. We’re even thinking about doing Christmas baskets and throwing parties every time a child completes chemo. What do you think?”

If anyone could pull off such a grand plan, it would be her mother. “I think Adam would be pleased,” Alexis said.

“You helped make it happen, you know. You made a difference, Ally, and we want you to be a part of it. Your ideas are welcome.”

“If I have any, I’ll let you know,” she said. “When I’m not studying to earn that diamond bracelet.”

Both of her parents laughed, and the sound flowed through her like an electric current, radiating warmth to the depths of her heart.

Sawyer came over to her house a week later, waving a letter and grinning broadly. “My scholarship to Duke came through.”

“Way to go,” Alexis said, giving him a hug. She was pleased for him because it was something he’d wanted for so long. Duke University had an NCAA soccer team that was one of the best in the country.

“I’ll ride the bench for the first year, but that’s okay. I’ll have top coaching, and I’ll play with some of the best talent in the country. Aside from myself, that is.”

She rolled her eyes.

He said, “I’ve been looking over the schedule for the season. We play a tournament in Orlando in the fall. And that means you can come be with me.” Deland, where Stetson was, wasn’t that far from Orlando. “Then for spring break, I figure we can both head over to Daytona Beach. What do you think?” His blue eyes grew serious.

“Spring is a long way off. You know, you may find a girl at Duke you’ll want to date.” She didn’t want to lock him into a commitment he might regret later.

“You’re the girl I want,” he said.

“But just maybe—”

He pressed his fingertips to her lips. “Are you trying to dump me?”

She shook her head. “Your feelings could change.”

“Impossible.”

She slipped her arms around his neck. “All right. Let’s see how it goes. Just remember, I have the ability to read minds.”

He pulled back, grinned. “Then read this,” he said, and he kissed her.

Alexis felt she had one piece of unfinished business left before she could head off to college. She chose a warm summer day when she was alone in the house and when she knew she wouldn’t be interrupted. She’d been thinking about doing it for a long time, and now the timing seemed perfect.

She found a large box in the garage and dragged it upstairs. She paused briefly at the closed door of Adam’s room, took a deep breath, opened the door and walked in. The room was pristine, with every item in its place and the scents of lemon wax and freshly washed linen saturating the air. The cleaning woman had done up the room the week after Adam’s death, but Alexis saw him everywhere—on his bed, by his closet, at his desk. She knew that her parents sometimes slipped inside to sit on the bed and soak up what remained of their son. It was something they’d learned at their support group meetings.
Grieving takes time. Don’t rush it
.

Alexis didn’t know how long they would leave the room intact; that would be up to her mother and father. She only knew what she had to do for
her
sake. She was going to gather up some of Adam’s things and create a time capsule of her own. She planned to tuck it away, just as Ms. Lola had saved the papers from their first-grade class; then one day, perhaps when she was grown, or married, or a mother herself, she would open it up and revisit the brother she had loved and lost.

She picked up his baseball. The well-worn hide was smudged, but she held it along the stitching the way she’d often seen him do. She thumped it once against the wall behind the door, and the familiar, solid thud made her smile. She went through his dresser, found a sweatshirt that still held his scent. She buried her nose in the fabric, fought the urge to cry and dropped it into the box with the baseball. She combed the room methodically, choosing from his favorite comic books, his baseball trophies, his Matchbox car collection. She tossed in several of his school notebooks and a few important photographs from an old box where he had stashed them along with the negatives.

She removed the thumbtack that held his first-grade wish to his bulletin board. She traced her fingers over the childish block letters—
I
want to be a fireman.

Some dreams don’t come true
, she thought.

Alexis knew she had a letter to write and went to her room to compose it.

Dear Ms. Lola:

I’m heading off to college next week, but I
can’t leave without writing you and telling you
how I feel. First of all, I want to thank you for
being such a great teacher. If you hadn’t given
me such a good start, I might never have liked
school as much as I did. You made learning fun
and interesting—even math! I’m telling you this
because I don’t think kids say thank you enough
to the teachers who make a difference in their
lives.

I also want to thank you for visiting Adam
in the hospital when he was sick. It meant a lot
to him to know that someone besides his family
was thinking about him. Adam had a terrible
crush on you way back then, and always called you
a little elf.

Thank you also for the time capsule you kept.
And for the ceremony inviting us back to hear all our
kid wishes. I didn’t know at the time that it would be
the last school ceremony I ever attended with my
brother. I’m still sad whenever I think about how
Adam’s life was cut so short, but I make myself concentrate on the good and not the bad, and that helps
me keep control.

Most of all, I want to thank you for the whole
time capsule idea. I liked it so much that I have created my own time capsule dedicated to Adam’s memory. I’m saving many of his things, and I know that
someday, when I’m much stronger, I will be able to
open it and touch my brother again. I will be able to
use it to show my future friends and my future family (if I get married and have kids!) all about Adam
too, for I know the things I’m saving will help him
become real to them. He deserves that, I think.

Ms. Lola, I will never forget your influence on
my life. I will never forget your thoughtfulness and
kindness. The first graders of tomorrow will be lucky
to have you for their teacher. Think of me now and
again. Think of Adam too.

Your grateful student,

“I miss you . . . ,” she whispered to Adam when she finished writing. She and Adam, tucked so compactly beneath their mother’s heart inside the dark, warm comfort of the womb. They had been two halves, made whole by each other’s existence. Now she felt split in two again, cleaved, as if some great knife had sliced them apart. Holding the letter, she returned to Adam’s room.

Don’t be sad
. The words formed like a whisper inside her mind, as if he’d spoken them aloud. “You’re here, aren’t you, Adam?” She heard no answer, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t have to see the sun to know it existed. Adam’s room was alive, all but vibrating with his essence. The presence she felt was no illusion.

She lifted the box, rested it on her hip, took another long, searching look around the room, opened the door to the hall. Adam was with her. Not in his possessions, but in her mind, in her memory. She would keep him alive inside the time capsule of her heart. Always.

MAKE YOUR OWN TIME CAPSULE

Maybe you’d like to create a time capsule for yourself. It’s fun and easy, and if you do it correctly, your keepsakes can last a long, long time. According to the International Time Capsule Society, here’s how to do it.

Choose a container
. It can be plastic, metal, or heavy-duty rubber—as long as it’s nonbiodegradable and airtight. Coffee cans work great, but you may want to use something larger.

Choose a date.
Decide when you (or future generations!) will open your time capsule. After you graduate from college? In ten years? Twenty? Fifty? Write that date on a large adhesive label: DO NOT OPEN UNTIL —; then stick it on your container.

Choose your contents
. What do you want to put in your time capsule? Use your imagination. Fill your container with things that represent both world events and what’s going on in your life right now. Clip headlines from newspapers and magazines. Since newsprint is fragile, photocopy news articles onto archival-quality paper, which can be found at your local craft or hobby store.

You can also add photos of yourself, your family, your pets and your friends. Wrap photographs in archival-quality envelopes to protect them, and be sure to label them so you’ll remember who’s in them, where you were and what you were doing.

Be creative! Add ticket stubs from movies and plays and programs from events you attended. Include CDs or CD-ROMs of your favorite music or computer games. Why not write a letter to your future self or to the people who will open your time capsule? Write about your everyday life, your feelings, your hopes and dreams. Be sure to use acid-free paper so that your words will stand the test of time. Your local craft store’s scrapbook or stamping department usually stocks this kind of writing paper.

Get other people involved.
Invite family and friends to contribute to your time capsule. To preserve items that aren’t papers or photographs, seal each in a plastic bag, and label it so that you know where it came from.

Seal it!
Now it’s time to seal your time capsule, so gather all the items, put them in a large plastic bag for extra protection and put that bag into your container. Make sure the lid fits tightly. If necessary, seal it with duct tape or glue.

Hide it!
Even though a lot of people bury their time capsules, it isn’t a good idea. You might forget where you buried your capsule, or you might move. Many time capsules have been lost this way. Instead, pick a location that’s cool, dark and dry— this will ensure that the things you’ve put in your capsule will last for a long time. Think about shoving it to the back of your closet, locking it in a drawer or even storing it in plain sight on a shelf in your room. (No peeking!)

Leave yourself a reminder.
If you’ve hidden your time capsule, write a note to remind yourself when to open it. Leave the note in a place where you’re sure to find it—your desk drawer, your diary, a home file cabinet.

Open it!
In the future, that is! You’re going to love meeting yourself years from now. And you’ll be surprised at the amazing memories when you do.