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That Reminds Me...
WRITTEN BY NICK 9B
The garage door slid up, over my head. Inside, it was gloomy and everything seemed to be different shades of grey. I reached out and flicked the light switch and colours sprang out to me. The cricket bat was at the back. I shimmied through the bikes and carefully stepped over a toolbox. I climbed over and old rocking horse and scooped up the bat.
I was just about to turn and go when I realised what the bat had been resting on. There were the words ‘Nick. Primary School.’ I thought that all the things from my old school had been thrown away but mum, true to form, had probably kept every last thing. I thought I might as well look through it so I hefted the large box over my head, dropped the bat and scrambled back out of the garage and into the sun.
Once outside I carefully lowered the box to the floor and pulled the flaps of cardboard that kept it shut apart. Inside there were masses of books with yellowing pages and I was met by the smell of age. I pulled out some books an underneath there was some of my old artwork. There were collages made of lentils and drawings of people who had no bodies. I gently lifted these out and underneath was a tarnished silver trophy. I blew the dust off it and held it up to the sun. Engraved on the base was ‘Nicholas Harvey. Sports day winner 2005.’
Three years ago, on a hot summer day, Bishop Wilson primary school was holding sports day on its playing fields. Lined up along the side of the track, sitting down on small school chairs, were the parents of children from reception up to year 6.
It was the last event of the day, the egg and spoon race. I was lined up along with 5 other children, I only needed to win this race and I had won the whole of sports day. But then again so did Tom Williams who had won it the last 3 years. The headmaster raised his arm, all eyes were on him. He blew his whistle and we were off!
Tom and I easily pulled away from the rest and soon it was a two man race. We were neck and neck. There were ten metres to go. Tom stumbled. His egg fell to the floor and smashed! I ran over the line. I had won, I was the champion! Mum rushed over and pulled me into a tight embrace. “I am so proud of you!” she whispered in my ear.
Later when I was awarded the trophy I thought my heart would explode with happiness. Tom came over and shook my hand, “Well done” he said. As I walked back into the house with my tarnished trophy, I thought to myself, I should try and meet up with Tom.
WRITTEN BY SEAN 9B
It was a lovely summer’s day, and after coming home from a long hard days work, I headed straight for the garden shed for my shovel. Today was the day. Today I was going to dig up the time capsule I buried all those years ago. Since then, I’d almost forgotten, until now. Now I was finally going to dig up and open it, and peer among the contents that no man had seen for many years. I remembered the spot I buried it, up on the hill; near the oak tree I had loved so much as a child. The excitement mounted within me, building higher and higher until I was sprinting full pace. The old oak tree, withered, bullied by the harsh winds and heavy rain, but still there and hopefully the same would be true for my precious box.
I dug with the shovel, cold in my hands, as the sweat tricked down my cheek. I dug harder and faster still, muscles screaming at me to stop, until a large clang shook through me, alerting me to look down at what I had found. Rusty, after many years of solitude, but still there. Relief washed through me like the sea between my toes, in those memories of long ago, those memories I was about to unlock.
The key still slid smoothly into the lock, I’d never lost it. I opened the box and peered amongst its contents. I rummaged through the old photos, toys and games, until it hit me. Staring me in the face with those eyes, those eyes with the piecing blue matching the summer sky. Yet somehow, it stared at me as if I were a traitor. The most painful part was deep down, knowing that I was a traitor as I remembered who this photo was of. My Granddad, left behind by my busy lifestyle, neglected, forgotten. I remembered being with my grandma in Middlesbrough, as my granddad passed away while I was still at an early age, too young to understand the sorrow, the grief. It’s probably better that way. But nonetheless, I still miss him. All I had to remember him by were the stories, stories of his generosity and love, and the pictures, like the one I had neglected and forgotten. He never forgot about me, yet I had willingly let go of him. The guilt was unbearable, crushing me with the weight of all the lost memories, now resurrected, back. Now I’ll make sure they never leave again.