The Treasure Trove: A Four Act Play

At the fifth grade roller skating party, Jonathan decided to save the last skate for some tease named Catherine who was wearing jean bootie shorts and knee high striped socks. I was a wreck when I got home that night and decided the most appropriate thing for a newly single girl to do was to lay in bed wailing. The next morning I woke up feeling less dramatic. My mother greeted me with my sack lunch. It took me until midway through lunch period to realize that instead of a sandwich, she had packed me angel food cake with raspberries, strawberries and chocolate syrup on the side — my favorite at the time.

**

After my mother, a true comrade, noticed the Playtex wrappers in my pink wire trashcan, she did not publicly announce that her precious daughter, the only one in her entire family, had finally achieved womanhood. She simply turned my heated blanket on and left out her signature chocolate mousse while I was in the shower.

Years later, when I lost my virginity to my long-time high school boyfriend, my mom figured it out immediately and took the occasion in stride. She even greeted me with a slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie on my way out the door the following morning.

**

On a particularly humid fall night away at college, I had just gotten into the rhythm of drinking when I was liberally tipsy at a local bar. As the lights came on to signal the end of the night, I figured I should probably go home with the guy I’d been seeing.

The moment I unlocked the door to my place, I was hit with a brief wave of sobriety: I left my vibrator out on my bed. I ran inside and “playfully” sprinted up the steps, then viciously clawed through my blankets until I found the light blue chunk of treasure. I chucked it into my laundry basket which was filled to the brim with dirty clothes. It landed silently. Crisis averted.

I was probably still drunk the next morning when I decided I should pay my parents a visit. I was hungry, had no clean clothes, and hadn’t seen them in at least a month. Being only an hour away, I grabbed my laundry basket, my backpack, a Gatorade, and I hit the road. On the way home I jammed out to “Rumors” by Fleetwood Mac — twice.

**

I arrive and my parents, who are both elated to see me, ask if I’ve run out of money.

There are hotdogs on the grill.

I eat so many that I crawl into my childhood bed to take a nap. Later, at dinner, we talk about life and the weight of my family cat. The evening wears on and eventually it’s time to drive back to school. My dad hands me $20 while my mom gives me my laundry basket, which is filled with crisply folded clothes and to my surprise, a batch of her legendary homemade lemon bars.

I show off the platter of baked goods to my roommates when I get back. Then, feeling refreshed, I head upstairs to do work and unpack. It takes me a lemon bar and a half to realize that while putting away my freshly laundered clothes, I never removed the little treasure from the bottom of the basket.

No, no, no, no….

I scream.

I scream so loud that my roommates scream. I scream louder than I ever have to drown out the image in mind, but it doesn’t work. I collapse to the floor and reach into my laundry basket.

There it is — beneath my precisely folded panties. The vibrating, light blue buried treasure.

Written by Emily McMachen

Images via Perpetually Hungry, Volt Cafe Spring 2011, and Wiki