Backpack

            The mystery is what initially got me.  The possibility of discovering a fatal outcome tweaked my curiosity and the frequency by which I was confronted with the whole thing – it was a gift I could not refuse.  I was, after all, a homemaker with four young children;   I was bored to tears.  I love my children and my husband, but everyday life had become a string of mundane tasks: wake up between 5:30 and 6:30 am.  Get one-year old from crib.  Get three-year-old from bed.  Hand off both to husband silently, both too tired to talk.  Help five and seven-year-old get dressed for school.  Make breakfast.  Clean kitty litter.  Feed cat.  Brush kids’ teeth.  Drive two older kids to school.  Come home and take two younger kids from husband.  Husband puts on suit for work.  “Bye.  Love you.”  “Love you too.”  Brush my teeth.   Eat breakfast.  Play with kids.  Naps.  Dinner.  Nighttime route.  I’m bored just recounting it.  Bored to tears.  Something had to give. 

            The gift appeared one early-fall morning.  I was driving Duke and Olivia to school and was stopped at the end of my street, waiting to turn right onto Route 299, when I spotted something off the road on the grass a few feet from my car.  It was a navy blue back pack with a rolled-up black sleeping bag attached to it.  A large, seemingly-full, green garbage bag lay next to the backpack.  I stared at it for a few moments and wondered who it belonged too and then I moved on.  Took my kids to school.  I forgot about the backpack until I drove by it on my way home.  I wonder whose it is, I thought again.  Maybe it’s someone who went into the woods for a hike and didn’t want to carry all that stuff.  But the garbage bag…my thoughts trailed off.  I looked up at the sky.  Blue.  Warm sun.  Leaves starting to turn.  Beautiful day for a hike. 

            Fall passed and nobody came to retrieve the backpack.  The leaves were brilliant that year, with fluorescent reds and oranges and then dark reds and oranges and then beautiful browns.   The leaves fell and covered the stuff.  And then it got cold and the snow came.  The snow covered the stuff.  Then spring came and the buds came out on the trees and the early spring flowers popped up around the stuff.  Spring rain soaked it.  Summer was early and wonderful.  The stuff baked in the sun.   With each passing day my curiosity grew.  I would scour the surrounding woods as I drove by, looking for clues.  Whose stuff was this? 

            One rainy fall afternoon, with all four kids in the car, I decided to go for it.  We were on our way home from school.  The kids were yapping away in the back of the mini-van.  Two rows of kids in that mini-van.  I made the turn onto Hasbrouck Road and I pulled over.  Put my hazards on.  The two older kids wanted to know what I was doing.  I pointed to the pile of stuff as I jumped out of the car.  It was raining but not torrential.  I was definitely going to be wet after I finished but I didn’t care.  My adrenaline was pumping .  My fingers were tingling, a long-forgotten sensation.  I opened the trunk and heard the kids, what are you doing?  What stuff? I don’t see it!  Just wait! I yelled.  I was smiling.  They smiled back and giggled from the excitement of it all. 

            I ran across the street, up the small grassy hill, and was finally face-to-face with the backpack and garbage bag.  I bent down and then looked over my shoulder to make sure the kids were okay.  They were watching me and I could see they were yelling at me, laughing.  I knew they thought I could hear them.  I turned back to the stuff.  The garbage bag was spread out flat and heavy with the rain.  I undid it’s knot and inside were papers and notebooks.  They were wet and stuck together.  I tied the garbage bag back up and I tried to lift it but couldn’t.  I bent my knees and braced myself, heaved it over my shoulder and half-stumblen, half-ran back to the car.  Threw it in the back.  The kids were screaming at me, what is it?  I ran back to the backpack, grabbed it and threw it in the trunk.  Slammed the trunk and looked around the woods.  I felt uneasy about taking someone else’s stuff.  Had a feeling I was being watched but I couldn’t see anybody.  Just my kids screaming at me.  I got into the driver’s seat and on the short drive home the kids listened with wide-eyes as I explained the history of the gift. 

                        I left all of it in the garage for a couple of weeks.  Didn’t touch it.  I think I was scared.  Afraid of disappointment.  Afraid this stuff wouldn’t release me the way I hoped it would.  I realized how much I was depending it would give me a purpose a mystery to solve or a life to save.  I needed to save a life.