David cannot find his red matchbox car. He asks his sister, who says no, she has not seen it. And yes, she did put it back with his bajillions of others yesterday when they cleaned up the toys from the living room floor, so he should look again and stop bothering her. She cannot explain that she didn’t think he’d miss it, that she buried it, on impulse, in the garden, along with one of her dolls because she imagined them being found by a stranger one day. She cannot explain the sudden urge to leave bits of her life behind.
Words like “strange” and “haunting” come to mind after reading this. A 1-paragraph story that says so very much.
Thanks, Bobby.