#37 The Teal Backpack
I took off my light-teal backpack and left it next to my drawing. I didn’t want to drag the backpack everywhere as I shuffled between rooms dropping off my other pieces for the state art competition.
We were in high school, but on the UW Madison campus. My backpack was gone by the time I got back. It contained snacks, a notebook and pen, and some money. I hadn’t wanted to compete.
On the way home, I came out of Burger King to see the yellow school bus speeding up the highway, forgetting me. I went back inside and slumped down in a molded plastic seat. No money. No journal. No plan. No reaction.
A girl from the trip burst through the doors. The two of us jogged across a field of waist high shards of straw to the bus waiting on the shoulder.
I’d won every category I’d entered.