The Time Capsule

Two weeks had passed since the air had erupted with the crackling reds and blues of the Elmwood Independence Day firework display. It was now a past memory, still hanging in the air only for those with sensitive enough ears to remember it.

The landscape around the valley sat quieter now. It was like a good book had been opened and the Rocky Mountain peaks, having pushed through the snow—to reveal jagged granite spears—were ready to tell their story. The fields stood packed with tall, maturing corn; an assembled audience waiting to hear their time-old tale.

The mid-July sun hung in the sky like a large brass paperweight. A heavy, inescapable presence that loomed over everything, threatening to crush the fresh green fields, sending their proud new shoots back into the ground where they had sprung from. The box-elder maples and the aspens that lined the winding roadway toward the woods welcomed the slight breeze. A breeze that offered little respite and could do nothing to stop them shaking and shivering from the possibilities that the sun would turn its eye to them once it had dealt with the fields.

B-Jay stared through the window from the stifling, desiccated garage, glad to be home, but eager to leave.

He had spent the last fortnight in town, tucked away in the cool, shaded bays of the local auto shop for his annual checkup. His owner had insisted on a full service—oil change, tire rotation, and a thorough belt tightening—which had kept B-Jay away from home and away from his friends.

Now, with fresh oil pulsing through his engine and his red paint polished, he felt like a brand-new car and was eager to attend to matters that he felt were more serious. Matters that he had intended to conclude before now. He needed to check on his friend, Maxwell the St. Bernard dog, who had not enjoyed the firework display in the way that others had. He had learned something new about his friend that night, along with Zippo the theatrical ant, Cressida the proud black cat, Digger Bo the tumbling badger, and Aruna the very wise Great Horned Owl. It was a night where they realized that dogs did not appreciate loud bangs and other alarming noises.

Maxwell had been scared of the screaming rockets and by the time the sixth or seventh had exploded with a sky-splitting boom, he had run away frightened. After a long search, they found him safe but cowering in Digger Bo’s burrow. It had only been the motherly nature of Cressida that had calmed him, bringing him back out, and although he seemed to be more like his composed self once the night had concluded, B-Jay was eager to check up on his friend to make sure. They had all learned much that night about fear, trauma, and how to treat it. Equally as important, they had learned more about Cressida. There was a lot more to her aloof and somewhat sassy nature. Beneath her hard exterior beat a rather large and loving heart. He was hoping that the unfortunate incident was all in the past. Now that he was finally home, he would find out.

Despite the winding road to the cottonwood being sticky, its asphalt oozing under the heat, B-Jay’s new tires felt great and the fresh oil that ran through his veins made him feel young again.

As he pulled up at the cottonwood tree, he was relieved to see everyone there, especially Maxwell, although he wasn't sure what was going on.

"Hello everyone," he said greeting them. "Errr, what is going on?"

"Don't ask—won't tell," said Cressida in response. She stopped grooming to turn and face B-Jay before continuing. "It's a long story that began with a twitch and will end with—well who knows what it will end with. But you’re just in time. I figure we are around the middle." As soon as she finished her rather cryptic response, she laid down on the dry, weather-beaten grass, contorted her body into an arch shape, and began to prune her tail.

Aruna flew from the branch that he was resting on, landing on B-Jay's headrest. He flexed his neck, gave it a quick shake, blinked slowly, and then spoke.

"Allow me to translate," he said in his usual calm, reassuring manner. "It seems, assuming I have got my facts correct, and who knows when it comes to Digger Bo and Zippo if there are indeed any facts, that Maxwell was seen twitching in his sleep and mumbling incoherently. Cressida informed them that it was in a dog's DNA to do this and that it was normal."

"What is DNA?" interrupted Digger Bo, taking his eyes away from Zippo for a second. He raised his tiny furred hands and placed them on his hips, standing upright, then wriggled his tufted chin, waiting to hear what Maxwell had in his DNA. He felt he needed to know in case it was beyond Zippo’s skillset.

Aruna thought for a second, gave two hoots, a double blink of his rather large eyes, and then answered. "Inside every living thing—from the giant whales in the ocean to the tiny flowers in the fields, and even inside you—there is a tiny, magical library. But this isn't a library with dusty books and wooden shelves. This library is hidden inside of every part of you and it contains a special book. Inside the book are four letters that have been arranged over and over into millions of different words. That book is called DNA. Every person has their own book of DNA and everyone’s book is different, telling a different story. Everyone and every living thing are, therefore, unique. There may be other books that tell stories of other dogs, and other badgers for that matter, but there are parts to your story that are yours and yours only."

Digger Bo stopped for a minute to consider this before asking, "So, does this mean I could be the only tumbling badger?"

"Quite possibly," replied Aruna. "That may well be the part of your story that makes you unique."

"I love DNA!" screamed Digger Bo as he launched himself into his most happy tumble ever. So much so, that he disappeared around the tree, tumbled round it in a circle, before tumbling around it again.

Cressida couldn't resist butting in at this point. "I wonder what story Zippo's book would tell us right at this moment." She didn't turn to look at Zippo to know what he was doing; her ears told her all she needed to know.

"You're feeling sleepy," said Zippo the ant, in a very slow, calm way, waving a pocket watch in front of Maxwell the dog's face. He paid no attention to Digger Bo who, it seems, had so far completed five complete revolutions of the tree; Zippo was focused entirely on Maxwell.

Maxwell sat there, at the base of the cottonwood tree, his tongue hanging over his gaped mouth, twisted to one side, staring at the pocket watch as it swung slowly, left to right, in a pendulum fashion.

"I am going to count backward from ten," said Zippo waving his other hand over the watch as if summoning all his Jedi powers. "When I reach zero, you will find yourself in a deep sleep. Then, when you hear me say the words 'It was just a dream,' you will wake up and remember fireworks as something you enjoyed. 10, 9, 8," he counted….

"You know there is every chance that he will be asleep well before he reaches zero," said Cressida, unimpressed, never having wasted that much effort on anything other than grooming, which she began doing by raising her front paw to her mouth.

"Yes," replied B-Jay watching her rub her cheek, over and over, “but you have to give him credit for trying. I think he truly cares!"

Before Zippo had reached the number two, Maxwell had fallen asleep. Cressida smirked to herself, then in mid-groom whispered, her face pointing toward B-Jay, “I told you so.”

"Now for stage two," Zippo said clasping his hands together and cracking his tiny ant knuckles. He turned as a surgeon might, mid-operation saying, "Digger Bo, if you please…."

As Zippo was telling Maxwell that all would be well and that fireworks were his friend, Digger Bo duly returned from his tree run, disappeared into his burrow, before reappearing, carrying a spent firework that they had retrieved from the firework display. It was harmless, as it had been used, but it would suffice for the purpose of stage two.

Zippo clicked his fingers together really loudly, shouting, "Awaken Maxwell, it was all a dream."

He took the firework from Digger Bo and before he laid it at Maxwell’s feet he said to himself, "Now we will see if it worked. Here we go……."

Maxwell looked at the firework that Zippo had placed before him. His head tilted sideways and he stared at it for a fraction of a second before his nostrils got the scent of spent black powder. His ears twitched, his nose wriggled, and his mouth made contorted shapes at the strong scent filling his nostrils. Once he’d finished his investigation, he picked the rocket up in his mouth, trotted over to the bush near the edge of the tree, and began digging a hole to bury it. His tail wagged furiously as his paws clawed at the sun-scorched, dry dirt.

"Success!" cried Zippo, taking a bow. "My job here is done."

"How on earth did you learn how to be a hypnotist, Zippo?" asked Aruna, who was very intrigued, even if it was a lucky reaction and nothing to do with the process that Zippo had performed so excellently. He lifted a leg before flexing his talons, his head spinning backwards at the same time.

"Oh, just a little something I learned from the house ants back at the colony. Apparently they watch a lot of shows on Netflix. It was nothing really; just glad I could help our friend." He said while packing away the pocket watch, laying it gently - using both hands - into an old, faded brown briefcase. The handle of the briefcase was broken and the leather was cracked, peeling back in several places, but it had all the character of something a seasoned professional with years of experience might carry.

"That was very nice of you Zippo," said B-Jay giving him a toot-toot from his horn before speaking. "We have to look after our friends. Friendship is everything. Before I met you guys, I was alone, stuck in a rundown garage. Occasionally I would get to go on an adventure with my owner, on weekends, when he wasn't driving his work truck, but he always had the radio on singing and stuff, so I never had the interesting conversations and fun that I have with you guys. And last week, when I was in the auto shop, I got to thinking about how special you all are and how different my life was before and I came up with a really good idea. I think we should do something that commemorates our friendship for all time. Something that means that we never forget each other."

‘Ah, you want me to hypnotize everyone,’ he stated, undoing the buttons on his waistcoat, before putting that and his hypnotist jacket into the briefcase.

"That is a wonderful idea," said Aruna, picking at his outspread wing with his beak, attempting to dislodge an uncomfortable mosquito. "And by that, I was referring to B-Jay's commemoration idea and not the group hypnotism. What did you have in mind B-Jay? But before you answer, Zippo, where did you get the pocket watch?”

“I borrowed it from Reginald the Riddling Rabbit” answered Zippo.

“Oh!” huffed Aruna scratching at his wing with a talon, straightening out a dislodged feather. “Sorry B-Jay” he continued, “carry on, you were about to say…”

"I don't really have an idea, as you may have noticed from our previous adventures. I am not really good at ideas," replied B-Jay, his side mirrors twitching in a sad, inadequate way.

"I know, why don’t we carve our names in the tree," said Digger Bo, who was taking a short break from his DNA. "After all, it is where we always meet."

"Trees are living things, Digger, and as such have feelings," replied Aruna clicking his beak sharply. “We need a better idea, I feel.”

"I have an idea. Why don’t we have a party with lots of cake and Jell-O," asked Maxwell, who was back from the bush, his paws all gray and disheveled from the digging. His jaw dropped down and forwards as he said the words cake, followed by a slight drool when he got to Jell-O.

"That's not really commemorating anything other than your appetite," retorted Cressida, raising her head slightly from her paws, now curled up at the base of the tree, enjoying the shade.

Just then Zippo appeared from behind the tree wearing rather large welding goggles and brandishing his Jedi stick. "I say we build a time machine," he said raising his eyebrows. "It seems B-Jay enjoyed the adventures so much, I think we should go back in time and do it all again."

"You know that is a stick and not a real welding torch," replied Cressida, frowning.

"Plan B!" he shouted before disappearing behind the tree and then reappearing with some rope.

"I dare not ask," mumbled Cressida, shutting her eyes, returning to her catnap.

"It occurs to me, after further thought, that we already have a ready-made time machine with enough seats for everyone. That is you, B-Jay. All we need to do is tie Digger Bo, with this rope, to one of the wheels and get him to spin as fast as that day when he said he made the world spin backwards. Then we go back in time! Bingo!" And with that said, Zippo threw his stick in the air with the skill of a majorette, spun around, and caught it expertly behind his back.

"While that sounds like a very ingenious idea," said Aruna, blinking and readjusting his footing on the cottonwood branch, "I think you will find we will need at least three more Digger Bos. If we only tie him to one wheel, we will just go around in circles, extremely fast and most likely, will end up feeling nauseous."

"It definitely won't work then, as there is apparently only one of me," responded Digger Bo before launching into another happy tumble. "I—am unique!"

"Why don't we just make a time capsule," suggested Cressida, without moving anything but her mouth.

"What is a time capsule?" asked Maxwell squinting. "And will it have room for all of us?"

"Sounds like a version of my idea," retorted Zippo, unimpressed, thinking she had reinvented the time machine that he originally proposed. He then began twirling his stick between his fingers unimpressed.

Cressida didn’t wait for Professor Aruna to explain things, it was her comment, so she quickly proceeded:

"A time capsule is a metal box where we all choose something that represents each other and, or, signifies our friendship. We then put those items in the metal box and then we bury it. Years later we could dig it up and reminisce on our friendship and our adventures, or we could leave it buried for someone else to dig up. I suggest we leave it buried and in 100 years or so, someone might find it and then they will look at who we were and the fun and friendship we had together. That way we are never forgotten and we become part of time."

“I think that is a genius idea," responded Aruna. “It is perfect.”

"That does sound perfect!" said B-Jay, tooting his horn and flashing his lights. "That sounds exactly what I was thinking about. I say we do it."

“And who thought of this genius idea?” questioned Cressida before raising her lithe arms above her head with her petite paws facing downwards, exclaiming, “This girl!”

"So what do we put in it?" asked Digger Bo with a quizzical look on his furrowed face. "I am not sure I really have much stuff that says badger."

"Maybe you could do a tumble in the box before we bury it. That would say Digger Bo was here, surely," said Maxwell, who looked like he was grinning, suggesting he actually made a joke.

"I suggest," continued Cressida, rising from her last comment, "we all go home and have a snack, or get a much-needed drink, and then we can see what items we all possess and we could meet back here later this evening. That way we won’t spend all day thinking about it and never achieve it. Especially as anything we are likely to put in it will be at home and not here, under the tree."

"Brilliant," said B-Jay rocking on his tires, pleased that they were taking action toward making their commemoration of friendship and their adventures happen.

They made no official time for meeting again that evening. Most of the time it seemed they just spent time together under the cottonwood tree anyway, so "later" was enough of a ballpark time to aim for.

When B-Jay got back to the garage he scoured all the shelves and all the stored boxes for anything that said something about him. He thought about bringing back the owner's manual, which showed what type of car he was and how his parts fitted together, but although it was a good description of a Beetle car, it didn't really speak of him—of B-Jay. It didn't seem personal enough. He thought of bringing back one of his old spark plugs or an out-of-date registration plate, but nothing really seemed to have the personality he was looking for. He turned his lights brighter to explore all the dark corners.

That was where he caught sight of the storage boxes and where he came across exactly what he needed.

"Perfect!" he said to himself as he peeled it from the box of photograph albums that sat just under the workbench. "A picture of me and my proud owner the day we moved here. It shows my face perfectly and it even has a date on it."

He put it in the glove compartment and, feeling the cooler night air, turned on his headlights and exited onto the dark roadway and headed up the hill toward the cottonwood tree.

When he got there everyone was huddled in a group, talking about the items they had brought.

"Hi B-Jay!" they all exclaimed.

"I found something perfect," B-Jay claimed, his excitement obvious to all. "A picture of me." He placed it on the ground before them.

"That will do fine," confirmed Aruna, who had seemingly taken charge of proceedings. "So now we have a picture of B-Jay I think we are all set."

"What did you guys bring?" asked B-Jay, still excited as was evident by his flickering headlights.

"I brought that itchy star-studded collar from our Halloween adventure," replied Cressida, pleased to get rid of it. She shook her neck just thinking how it felt.

"I have put in one of my tail feathers," responded Aruna dropping the feather from his sharp, pointed beak. "It is well-marked and will be obvious that it has come from a Great Horned Owl."

"I brought my very first baseball cap," replied Zippo, going next. "It was when I first learned to spin caps and it doesn’t fit me anymore. Not now I have moved on to greater things."

"So what did you bring in the end, Maxwell?" inquired B-Jay, expecting maybe a soggy, chewed-up tennis ball.

"I brought a firework; I dug it up this evening. It reminded me of our adventure of Independence Day," he replied, scratching his ear with a hind leg, his lips flapping in the process.

"I thought you buried that?" questioned B-Jay, confused.

"Allow me the pleasure of this one, please Aruna," replied Cressida with a smile that let everyone know what was coming next. "Surely you know the only reason dogs bury things is so they can dig them up again later. I suspect he buried it to get rid of that nasty gunpowder smell."

"Oh, I didn’t know that. So what did you bring, Digger?" inquired B-Jay, quickly changing the subject.

"Well I don’t have much, so I thought, while you were all gone, that I would draw a map of my burrow. It says Digger Bo lives here!" He then proceeded to show them a piece of tree bark that he had scratched a crude map on with his sharp digging stone. There was indeed an X where it said, "Digger Bo lives here."

"So all we need now," exclaimed Cressida, who had thought of the idea, "is a metal box. Did you not find one in your garage, B-Jay?" She stretched out her front paws once she finished, arching her back in a way that made her shoulders pop.

Before B-Jay could answer saying all he had was storage boxes, Digger Bo came tumbling out of his burrow - no one realizing he had even left - carrying a metal box. It was old and rusty and the lock had long since perished.

"Where did you get that?" they all exclaimed, like a well-rehearsed choir.

"I found it when I created my burrow," he said nonchalantly. "It was hidden at the back of the dirt. I keep it next to my bed in case I want to get more height for my tumbling practice."

"Well let’s crack that bad boy open, throw our stuff in, and Maxwell can do the honors of burying it. Job done!" said Zippo enthusiastically.

When they opened it, they were all taken aback. It wasn’t just a metal box, it was someone else’s time capsule. Inside were various items from years gone by and friendships unknown, but the most startling thing they found was a picture of a very old gray Beetle car with an inscription:

"For those who find this. Friendship is an engine that never wears out. Signed B-Gray."

"It couldn’t be, could it?" Everyone thought the same thing before turning to look at B-Jay. Could this be B-Jay’s grandpa? They certainly looked alike. There was no mistaking the resemblance.

B-Jay took the picture from the box without saying anything.

They left the rest of the contents inside the box, where it seemed they belonged. Then, they added their own, at which point Maxwell duly buried it under the tree.

They sat there for a while, each trying to reason what they had unearthed, what they had discovered. No one spoke, but each one had the same thought in their mind.

It seemed a shame they couldn’t let those who had buried the box know, that someone had finally discovered it, years later, bringing them and their past into the future. Isn’t that the true definition of time travel?

The sun began to set, as the cosmic string weakened under the force of gravity, so they all set off home with a million thoughts forcing them into silence.

As B-Jay closed the garage door behind him, he stared at the picture of B-Gray. Was it his grandfather? Could that be possible?

If it was, he was surely more than just a magnificent red Beetle car. He was even more than a piece of history’s puzzle. He was part of an as-yet unknown legacy.

He may not have realized at the time but there was another adventure looming in the future. He would have to find out more about B-Gray.