The Things We Keep

And the Stories They Tell

I nearly pulled a muscle as I attempted to move the large wicker basket that doubles as an end table and storage. It had been next to the leather chair since I moved to my much larger cottage from my two-bedroom apartment. Whatever was weighing it down, I hadn’t laid eyes on it for five years. Although I was too busy to sort and purge, my curiosity got the best of me and I unhooked the latch to investigate. I found things that had been packed, stored, unpacked, repacked, and stored again. It must be important stuff or I wouldn’t keep it. I’m well known for my purging prowess.  

I suspected I would locate a few forgotten things. Indeed, there was my Cabbage Patch doll, Addie Tess, along with my Amy doll, in her little green gingham dress and our name embroidered on her apron. Repack. Both keepers.

I dug a little deeper and found a box of cards and letters that I had searched and searched for and thought they were lost. Store in my office closet, so I can again forget where I put them.

Even deeper, I found the heavy box. I had no clue what treasures it held, so I carefully lifted it and set it on the floor for further investigation.

Oh, what delight! Papers, medals, and memorabilia from my growing up years. Amongst the academic and religious pins and certificates, I found my sixth-grade diary, locked with no key. I wonder what secrets it holds. Those stories will need to wait. Repack.

There was a folder with memorabilia from my college campaign for Student Body President. I laughed out loud when I saw the hand drawn caricatures of me and my running mate, drawn by one of my artistically inclined friends. Photocopies on gold paper served as our official posters taped and pinned across campus. I had forgotten that one of our primary issues was promoting AIDS awareness (it was 1988) and the assurance that condom machines would be installed in the women’s restrooms, too. I won! I saved the Wayne Stater articles to prove it. Repack.

And then, on the very bottom of the box was a three-ringed red binder with faded stickers of Donald and Daisy Duck. Gently opening the broken cover, I discovered all of my assignments from Mrs. Mitchell’s 8^th-grade English class, including a bound collection of children’s stories. Flipping through the musty pages, I recognized most of my classmates’ names. I finally found my story, The Big Black Cloud. The rudimentary drawings of the main character were familiar and my printing actually legible. As I read it, 44 years later, I was moved by how much empathy poured from my adolescent heart. No one appreciated the big black cloud who was just being himself and searching for a place to belong and to be loved. Perhaps a personification of what I saw in other misfit kids, like me, who just wanted to find a place in the world.

What do these things I keep say? What stories do they tell?

Recently my writing partner challenged me with the following writing prompt:

Who I wanted to be… What I wanted to do…

The clues have always been there, in the things I keep. But they were packed and stored, to be rediscovered on another day. Save forever.

The Big Black Cloud

Amy Gross | November 14, 1980 | English 3

Once upon a time there was a big black cloud. He was very unhappy for no one liked him, or any big black cloud. Wherever he went someone would see him and run away. So he started crying great big tears and then everyone really hated him.

So he just kept going from town to town crying all over everyone.

Then one day the cloud came to a town called Bakersville. Someone saw him and said, “Look! A big black cloud! Run!”

Then a little voice of a little girl said, “Don’t run! He only wants to help us by raining on us and making our grass green and making our flowers pretty.”

Everyone thought about this and after a short while decided that she was right.

The cloud heard this and started crying tears of joy, making the flowers bloom and the grasses green.

So now, whenever the town of Bakersville needs some rain, the little black cloud takes care of it.

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With loving wishes,

Amy