The Treasure Chest

Patrick and Wayne, two seniors in my English class, have been placing trinkets and baubles in a treasure chest located in my classroom.


At first I simply viewed their covert operation as a means to attract attention or strike up conversations with girls.

But I'm wrong. Dead wrong.

They're on a mission. But their exact purpose still eludes me.

The other day I took a peek inside the treasure chest. Items ranged from a cupcake hermetically sealed in Tupperware to a mummified clementine. There are old graded quizzes, scavenged scraps of student notes, a brown paper bag, and some sort of linear measuring device. There appears to be no pattern or theme to what has been collected.

I closed the chest, sealing the pungent citrus aroma inside.

I carefully placed the treasure chest back atop the bookshelf.

Days from now I'll probably arrive at Bacon and my room will be sealed in strips of tape labeled "Do not cross." Through the window, I will see a workman in a Haz-Mat suit gingerly approaching the treasure chest with large metal tongs. Another worker will clutch a large red plastic bag with the word Bio-Hazard emblazoned on the side.

Trucks from CNN will encircle the building, etc.

Patrick and Wayne assert that the treasure chest poses no health hazard. That in fact their endeavor is school-related and possesses purpose and plan.

For now, I'll take their word for it.

But part of me is afraid.

Very afraid.