To the west of our apartment complex was the Jadwin Avenue dead-end. Beside the giant hump of dirt that barred traffic (sort of) grew a clump of sick-amores; it really was a miracle they were upright at all, what with the lack of nutritious soil and water. On a too-quiet Sunday afternoon having nothing better to do, I wandered through the trees in circles kicking up clumps of sandy soil in search of treasure. I was convinced pirates had hiked up from the banks of the Columbia River to this spot to bury their treasure. After a dusty hour or so, something shiny and yellow caught my eye! I plucked the object from the dirt and clutched in my palm until I was settled safe in my room. Under my lamp, I studied the object. Tear-drop shaped, smaller than a dime, the object was transparent like gold-colored glass. There was a tiny gnat in the center, too! Mind you, this was a decade before Jurassic Park. I didn’t imagine dinosaur DNA in that little fellow, but I guessed it might be worth some money.
As was my biological obligation, I showed off the find to big brother, Garth. Emotionally consistent, even hebubbled with excitement and raced to his room to consult books. He looked through volumes on dinosaurs and rocks and other science-y stuff and determined this was amber and could be tens of thousands of years old. He offered to trade me a stack of Richie Rich comics for it. Seeing dollar signs, I shook my head. He sweetened the deal by offering a stack of Uncle Scrooge comics.
Nope. The pot wasn’t sweet enough.
The next day at school, our classroom was inundated with a group of academics wielding radio equipment. After instructing us to settle down, our teacher explained we had visitors. They were college students here to conduct research on the learning patterns of second graders. I was one of the first kids they interviewed. I wondered if they’d found out about my precious amber and this was some complicated ruse to trick me into giving it up. Sweat beads broke out on my forehead as I snuck my hand beneath the desk to make sure it was still safe in my jeans pocket. It was.
After school, I hid the amber in a velvet-lined jewelry box that played the theme to A Love Story when the lid was cracked open. The box also contained my magic white eyelash, a sample-sized tube of perfume, and a fortune.
The amber sat there forgotten until we moved to our house across the river. I was about to begin fourth grade and as I unpacked my room, I took note of the lamp with the praying Precious Moments figurine that was mysteriously absent. Mom swore it’d gone missing after the move, securing her a front row seat in purgatory, I suspect.
Then, to the bittersweet strains of A Love Story, I rediscovered the amber.
What happened next is a blur. I can only hypothesize my brain was protecting me from the pain the truth would inflict. Situational-amnesia that I experienced after the birth of both of my kids. The pain is a mystery but my bitterness, is still tangible. My birth plan consisted of two thing; healthy baby/healthy me and pain relief. In both instances, I delivered healthy babies, but was told when I checked into the hospital I was too far along for any pain relief whatsoever. Hadn’t they heard about placebos?!? Anyhow, in regards to the amber, Garth is now the rightful owner. Did he give me cash? Comics? His Star Wars Jawa figurine? No.
Decades later sitting in a movie theater the old wound was scratched open. What happened to my amber? There’d been a gnat trapped in the center, or had I imagined that part? It’d been too long. Was there DNA inside? Did Garth use the amber as a down payment on his house?
I’ll never know. I’m too shy to ask him about it.
Ask him! Please!