Weston walked through the garden he and his mom planted a couple years ago. The weeds had taken over a long time ago, and he couldn't be bothered to keep up with the work anymore. He came across a few bushes of Rose of Sharon that desperately needed pruning. Below them, dandelions sprung up like gray hairs on a youthful head.
He didn't have any shears with him. There were things he didn't carry anymore.
The things he carried changed after she died. Now, in the lining of his leather wallet he got when he joined the boy scouts, was a photo of her at her wedding. In the photo, she is smiling. She was blissfully ignorant of the cancerous marble inside her left breast.
He sat down in the garden and dumped out the rest of his possessions: a moleskin journal, a change of clothes, a Swiss army knife, a few energy bars, an eighth of marijuana, rolling papers, and a lighter.
The journal was for jotting down short poems or ideas, quotes he overheard while eavesdropping, or just little doodles. He hadn't written in his journal since she passed away, but he always kept it with him, just in case.
The change of clothes was in case his father broke out in another alcoholic rage and kicked him out of the house again. He was so unstable after his wife passed away.
The Swiss army knife was something he never left home without. He had been given that knife as a gift on his tenth birthday by his grandfather.
The energy bars were peanut butter and chocolate chip, his favorite. They were just for emergencies, especially if he was to be thrown out of his house.
The rest was for the sole purpose of forgetting it all.
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