Caught in the Act

“What’s in that box?”

My heart practically stopped as I closed it up with tape. “Junk from my desk in Alaska.” I was a teacher, a writer, who knows what is in there. Notes from lesson planning, paid bills from the house, retirement extras, pamphlets. Paper is attracted to me and I collect containers to put them all in. It is a vicious cycle.

”You aren’t going to sort it?”

”No! It would take months to go through all that junk.”

He peers past me. ”Did you just write basement on the box?”

I grinned and moved it to the stack. “I don’t want it in my office to start with.”

”Someday, someone is going to look in that box and be very confused.”

”I hope so.”