Nostaligic Ephemera

I hold an unopened package of pens. There are three of them: red, black and blue. I see that the blue pen does not face forward, but to the side. I let my fingers graze the protective plastic, knowing that they should start tearing. My memory flickers to the seasonal back-to-school shopping. I have piles of these unopened, packaged in plastic, beauties. I take the clean pens and pencils, highlighters and sharpeners, white-out and tape, and put them into their new plastic-fabric home. I am overwhelmed by the idea of how all those packaged beauties now fit into this measly little pencil case. The pleasure of knowing their secret of hidden cleanliness makes me protective and possessive over them. During the first few months of school I try to maintain its glory, ensuring that no bits break off of anything. Yet, when the first lead breaks, the first coloured pencil snaps, and the bits of wood from the sharpener fall out, and all these variables come together, the visual mess takes over me. I give up and let this carry on.

That mess that will be there until years later, when I gather all my utensils out from their coffin cases. I will dust them off, and polish them up, sharpen them all, and put them into a new arrangement.