Prologue


This is the kind of strange, miniscule story that begins, and ends, with a backpack. Not the kind of backpack that's new, with a headphone jack and a built in water bottle nozzle. It's not the kind that has a plastic decor rainbows and unicorns on the front. Or the type with wheels and a long handle.

The backpack had five owners in it's life. The first was eight year old Mary Carson, who received it as a gift from her grandmother in 1991. It was made of light denim. When Mary ran her fingers over the stitching she could feel the expert manipulation of the thread, like a wizard with a magic wand. That backpack saw every school and house in town. It experienced every playdate, every sleepover, every classroom, and eventually every boy's room. Whenever she zipped up the backpack, whether it was filled with clothes, toys, or books, Mary did it slow as to listen to the tender sound of metal heatedly pressing against its counterpart.

Mid-1993, a prize at a youth dressmaking contest inspired Mary to add her needlework to everything she could get her hands on. Shirts, pants, aprons, blankets, nothing was safe from her needle. Including the backpack, which through her skillful and careful hands received a "secret compartment" installed in it's inner linings. It was just big enough for Mary's leather bound diary.

Fifteen years and two careful repair jobs later, the backpack met it's second owner: Jasmine Dudley. Four year old daughter of James Dudley and Mary Carson. It was just one of many thrilling gifts for the four year old that Christmas morning, and instantly went to work as she shoved all the new toys possible into the main compartment. And as many mints as she could possibly hide in the "secret" compartment. For five years, Jasmine adored it. At the age of seven, she glued stickers on the handles and back. At eight she hid in the basement and ironed one a "Mickey and Minnie" patch to the front. At nine she started an intense keychain collection on the handle, zipper, anything they would connect to. The backpack was truly no longer Mary's.

By age ten Jasmine wished desperately that she hadn't done any of those things. After months of desperate pleading with Mary and James for a new bag, something more fresh and modern, she finally worked up the courage to take matters into her own hands. On the last day of fifth grade, Jasmine and the backpack finally parted ways, on the seat of a lonely corner lunch table, cozying the edges of the wall.

It was found not hours later by a janitor who was a bit down on his luck, and quickly sold it to a nearby pawn shop for a smoke. The owner was weary of purchasing items that were overly personalized, but his wife thought the bag was just darling and begged him to take it. They strung a removable tag to the handle a little too tightly asking seven dollars for it.

It only lived in the shop for about three weeks before Olivia Tinto offered a solid twenty for it. From there it would meet its third true owner, purple and blond haired Chloe Tinto, who wasn't a fan of Mickey Mouse or floral stickers. Her mother - not ready for her oldest daughter to turn sixteen - insisted it was the sweetest antique.

Chloe insisted it was the sweetest waste of space in her closet. Silently. Out of respect for her mother, the teenage girl attempted to make the backpack her own by at least adding a side pocket for her phone before deciding that it couldn't be saved.

Two long and isolated years later it was handed down to its fourth owner, ten year old Simon Tinto, who was surprised to see something with so much charm in the garbage bag with the rest of his sister's collective trash. With a brief roll of her eyes, Chloe happily offered it up to her queer little brother. As he grew, so did his interests; as his interests grew, so did the bag's contents. In his mind, the boy planned out every adventure he and the backpack would take. Although they would never make the journey, his dreams remained dormant in the safety of the stitches.

Two more years later, that backpack would exchange hands one last time. It would be Simon Tinto's last gift to a dear friend. With her, the backpack would experience an adventure that would make the rest of its life seem like a cozy prologue.