With The Bad Comes The Good

Epilogue

Epilogue.

Walking along the gravel shoulder of the road with my group, I wipe sweat off of my forehead. Why do we have to do this? "What is so important about roadside clean up, anyway?" I ask aloud.

"It helps keep our community clean," one of the parent volunteers tells me. I grunt and pick up my garbage bag so that it isn't dragging on the ground.

I don't want it to rip and create more work for me. It's too hot for this! I walk up to the front of my group so that I'm first. I pick up wrappers and cans from around my feet. I don't want to go into the ditch and work harder. Other people can get it for me. I glance into the ditch to make sure people are actually down there. If there isn't I should fall back so I don't get chosen to go down there.

"Tim!" Too late. All of the ditch picking people are too far behind me.

"Yes?" I ask with mock politeness.

"Don't use that attitude with me," my tall teacher says warningly.

I look up at her, squinting against the sun. "'Kay."

"Could you climb down there and help some more, please?" She points toward the ditch.

"Fine," I jump down to the bottom without hurting myself.

"That's dangerous! Be more careful!" She scolds in a motherly way.

"Sure," I shrug and start trudging through the long grass. I fix my hat so that it keeps the blazing sun out of my eyes. I pick up two beer bottles and help lug a tire to the shoulder. My bag is clinking annoyingly against my leg as I walk.

I hunch my back so that I don't get told off for not looking when I am. Most of the time I don't even do anything, and I get in trouble. It's not fair. I see a wrapper ahead of me and turn toward it. I step on a rock, and go to kick it.

I stop, mid swing and crouch down. It isn't a rock. It looks like a phone. It is grown over with grass and cracked. It looks like it's been here a while. I tear it from the earth and look at it for a second before tossing it into the garbage bag. I wonder why there was a phone down here. Somebody must be too cheap to actually throw their old stuff out. I go for the wrapper, and see some broken glass.

We were told not to get broken glass, but I won't hurt myself. My rubber gloves are too big and there is a bit of floppy rubber at the tips of each of my fingers. They make it difficult to pick up the old, moldy wrapper. I crouch down beside the broken glass that glinted in the light. It turns out, it wasn't glass. It is a rusty necklace with diamonds on it. I don't know if they are real or not. If they are, I could be the star of the group.

"Hey, Mrs. Grishen! Come see what I found!" I call for my teacher as I inspect the necklace. The necklace spells out "sixteen" in fancy letters. I almost can't read it, it's so fancy.

"Yes, Tim. Did you find something?" Mrs. Grishen is beside me now.

"Yeah. This. Is it real diamonds?" I ask.

"I don't think so. Did you just find it on the ground?" She asks. I nod. "I imagine it was really pretty at one point. Shame somebody tossed it," she hands me the necklace again. I pretend to throw it in the bag as Mrs. Grishen watches.

 As soon as she walks away, I secretly put it in my pocket.