A ragged mouth ripped from the earth. Massive, gnarled black walnut’s roots gaped back at Connie. She squatted over the hole reaching. Entangled in the upturn roots, a swollen wood box peeked out. Hurricane Helen had strengthened over the Atlantic before hitting the east coast.

Connie brushed at the clods of mud. The soften wood box broke away in her hands in sweet rotten chunks. Tightly she held the contents of her time capsule. Gus had convinced Dad to evacuate to his place ahead of the storm.

Suddenly Connie was nine years old. Sister Thomas had her class do an assignment on what they would put in a time capsule. Pink cheeked and earnest, Sister Thomas was one of the younger nuns at St. Barnacus’. The whole class had written sappy things except for Connie. The black walnut tree that once held a tire swing, that gave ammunition for endless combat with Gus, that withered away in her family home’s overgrown backyard have fallen over into the garage.

Nine year old Connie had written for her assignment that she would include her memoir because she would be a famous author one day and her fans would get a kick out of her undiscovered masterpiece. Other kids wrote about adding their favorite matchbook car or Barbie to give future kids a smile. Other kids wrote about adding a rosary or a bible to show the importance of God’s love. Other kids were lying idiots to nine year old Connie. The sweet smell after a rain lay across grownup Connie’s shoulders.

Connie turned the squishy composition notebook over in her fingers. Glittery unicorn stickers sparkled in the mud. She tried to remember that last time she had written anything more than a grocery list. Sister Thomas had given her a gold star for use of that week’s vocabulary and sheer gumption. Connie remembered making Gus dig the hole to bury her cigar box time capsule with her pink ribbon tied memoir, one of mommy’s rosaries, a random picture of Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman, and Gus’ favorite Matchbox car.

Clutching her treasures, Connie stood. In the distance an ambulance siren sounded.

“I don’t know babe it looks pretty bad,” Dan said climbing over broken branches and the remains of her dad’s pickup.

“Yeah but there’s still time,” Connie said.