L.K.

"It's not carbon dioxide that makes champagne fizz. It's dirt. Dirt acts as condensation nuclei for the dissolved CO2. In fact did you knooow there are over 250 million bubbles in evvvery frickin’ bottle of Moët?" ######
"Quit talking dirty, nerd.” Jackie lazed. “And bring me a beer. It’s getting warm out here." ######
Not many apartments in the hood had backyards, let alone vegetable gardens, but Jackie’s did. Before its transformation friends had jokingly baptized the former rubbish-stuffed eyesore, “Fresh Frills,” however the nickname had stuck. Cucumbers and tomatoes and sugar snap peas and basil and fennel and mint and lemon balm and edible nasturtiums now all thrived, one of those trees which blooms tulips kept the space pretty and cool, plus if a sheet were to be tossed over the rotten fencing that needed replacing she’d be able to host barbecues with projected films come summer. Better yet, maybe now it’d be possible to adopt a dog. ######
Feeling ambitious, she’d decided to clear an additional plot for a patch of hybrid Hakucho Charentais melons. Delicious. Though the thought of mangling helpless earthworm bellies with the crux of a spade grossed her out. Besides. It soothed to investigate the earth with her bare hands. Digging, delving, jabbing deeper. Her fingers struck rock. Or was it wood or plastic? Sub radish, sub centipede, sub rosa. She less than sublimely broke a nail. ######
“Oh, wow,” nerd boy, a.k.a. her neighbor proclaimed. “Buried treasure? Not. Looks like more junk." ######
Jackie worked to fully extricate the object, which had clearly been cached with purpose. ######
“Which reminds me…were you awaaare that King Charles II of Spain, the crazy inbred freaky fucker, once demanded that a bunch of his ancestors corpses be exhumed so that he could stare at their rotten faces for fun?!”¬
“That sounds nasty.” ######
“And did you know that Van Gogh’s casket was found wrapped in the roots of the Thuja occidentalis, eye eeeee so-called absinthe tree, when they¬—” ######
“Jezuz, do you eeever stop yapping? You’ve only told me that story like five times already. I also know it’s illegal to pretend to be drunk in Iowa. With imaginary BEER. Now how about making yourself useful. Bring us those bevvies or mine your mind for Trebekkie fare about THIS.” ######
On her lap sat a filthy, albeit intact, large red and white thermos with a pivoting handle. Mmmm…Nothing like guzzling agua or lemonade accompanied by a refreshing douse of vintage tobacco swill. She shook it. Something rattled. ######
“Marlboros were initially marketed as chick cigarettes,” her neighbor informed in response to the iconic logo on the thermos’ side. “Beauty Tips to Keep the Paper from Your Lips. Mild as May. My great grams used to buy those. Smoked until she croaked. 92. She was really feisty. She told me they used to print a red band around the filter to mask lipstick stains. I can’t imagine her wearing lipstick. I don’t like it when women wear lipstick. I don’t like the taste. Damn. I haven’t made out in a really long time. In fact did you knooow that—“ ######
Jackie blocked out the clatter of his blah blah blahs in favor of focusing on that of her newfound maraca. ######
“Incidentally, Erin and Jason mentioned that some kooky old dude used to live here. That he’d amassed a bizarre fortune selling vacuum cleaners and purportedly hid his dough somewhere in your apartment. Maybe he plopped it into the ground.” ######
Jackie perked up. The excitement of having potentially deracinated some geezer weirdo’s financial grail set her mind into overdrive, paired with an ineluctable urge to reveal its guts. But whims of instantaneous riches were quickly dispelled after removing the thermos’ lid. This was probably some kid’s time capsule, dating from the early-70s to mid-80s if one considered the number of jaundiced news clipping found within. The rest of the container’s spoils were incredibly hodge-podge. ######
“A Donkey Kong cartridge,” Jackie began. “I’LL STAY IN SCHOOL TILL ’82 SO I DON’T GO TO DIEN BIEN PHU,” she read from a remarkably virginal button. “A purple friendship bracelet. Two pennies from 1968, a broken King Tut coffee mug and like a reeeally creepy looking homemade doll wearing Romanian flag suspenders. Let’s see…One corroded AAA battery, a paperback copy of Bob Vlasic’s 101 Pickle Jokes. A publicity portrait of Gertie from E.T. This really is junk.” ######
“Nah, everything has significance. Keep going. This is fun!” ######
“An Apollo launch sticker. An unidentifiable cassette tape,” Jackie continued. ######
“Oh, man. Did you heeear that the Concise Oxford English Dictionary removed ‘cassette tape’ from—” ######
“A dried out travel-size vial of Binaca Blast? A swiveling, wooden thingamajig with what looks like RS5 penciled on one side…” ######
“Kachcha kachcha? Pakka pakka? RS5 crore. Who wants to be an Indian millionaire!” ######
“Huh?” ######
“I am not a bum. I’m a jerk. I once had wealth, power and the love of a beautiful woman. Now I only have two things. My friends and—“ ######
“Steve Martin. Plus this Luke Skywalker action figure with a retractable lightsaber built into his arm, a torn off cover of In Praise of the Sensitive Man by Anaïs Nin as well as some French title I don’t understand by some guy named Vernon Sullivan. Garbage Pail Kids trading cards with bubblegum. Ew. Petrified. Never been opened. And that’s it,” she concluded. “No, wait! I feel something else at the bottom but it’s stuck. It won’t pry loose. Can you see it? It’s, like…It’s kinda…” ######
Eyes widened. Flesh made like geese. For several minutes the sound of silence deafened. ######
“Holy shit, Jackie. Shouldn’t we tell someone?” ######
“No…No…“ she whispered. “I think we need to keep this dirt a secret.” ######