Volume Three - WordPress.com — Get a Free Blog Here

“Okay,” I said running out of his office and up to my bedroom. I grabbed two of my favorite fairy pens and
then I ran back out of the house and back down the street, paper flopping all the way. Tommy stuck his head
out of the tree house doorway watching me.
“Well, don’t just stand there, take a pen,” I said handing him my green, fairy pen and a piece of paper to go
with it, as I climbed up the ladder.
“And do what with it?”
“Tommy Hanson, don’t be silly, you are supposed to write down your hopes and dreams. We’ll fill the box
and then we’ll bury it. Just like you said—or did you forget already.” I touched the pen to the paper.
“What exactly are we supposed to write?” Tommy asked looking quite confused.
“I thought you were supposed to know… Why don’t we write about what job we want to have when we are
older?” I asked writing: What Job I Want to Have When I am Older.
Tommy wrote down the same thing. I covered my paper so that he couldn’t see what else I wrote. I’m not sure
what I want for a job, there are many things that I would like to do. I want to be a singer. I want to be a model. I want to be an
office lady, the kind that gets to read all of the papers. I want to be a doctor, so that I can help people.
That is what I wrote. I was only able to catch a glance at what Tommy wrote before he blocked my view
with his hand.
“Hey!” I yelled lifting myself up higher to try to get another glance at it. He turned his paper over completely
and threw a hand over it.
“You can’t see it now; we can dig it up later and read what we wrote.”
“How much later will we dig it up?” I asked attempting to create a logical date in my mind.
“I don’t know; we’ll have to pick one… I think after my 16 th birthday.”
“After my 16 th birthday,” I said making my words final. Tommy is one-year-older than I am. He always
reminds me of that, and uses that one year against me.
“After your birthday it shall be.”
I paused before grabbing another piece of paper, “It seems like being 16 is so long away. I mean, I’ll be 16
and I’ll drive a car,” I said. I could imagine what I’d do when I was 16. I’d get my first job and I’d have my own
car; it would be lavender with yellow wheels.
I started doodling on my paper and created a terribly constructed image of a car, and I wrote the colors that
it would be. At the top, I titled it: My First Car.
“Cars don’t come in lavender,” Tommy said peering over my hand.
“Hey!” I yelled covering it up.
“It’s true, and tires aren’t yellow, they’re black.”
“Tires are white too, and I can paint my car lavender if I want to. Yellow and lavender go nice together.”
“They go nice together; just don’t let them get too close, I’d hate to see them mixed together,” Tommy
laughed.
“Colors don’t mix up that easily, Tom.” Tommy hates it when I call him Tom; he says he doesn’t like it
because he is only called Tom after he’s done something wrong.
“Whatever you say, Ceal.”
I folded up the notes that I already made, marked my name on the back of them, and gently set them down
into the box. Tommy mimicked what I did, but he didn’t write his name on the back of them.
I reached into the box and grabbed his out of there.
“What are you doing? You can’t read them yet.”
“I’m not reading them, silly Tommy, you have to put your name on them.” I marked his name on them and
threw them back into the box.
“What for,” Tommy asked grabbing them back out of the box.
“So that when we dig it up again we can sort through them and know who wrote what, don’t you think that’s
logic?” I asked writing on another piece of paper.
“You wrote my name wrong,” Tommy said grabbing the piece of paper that I had just written on.
“No I didn’t,” I said grabbing the paper from him to look at my spelling of his name.
“Tommy has two Ms, you only put one,” Tommy said honestly.
“Yeah, I left that one out because I was testing you.”