I was digging in my backyard for worms. Me and my friend Marcus were going fishing the next day. Mom said I had to find my own bait, which felt so unfair. She bought everything for my sister Luna. But whatever, I would get my own worms, I thought.

I was using the big shovel that was too heavy for me. My arms hurt and I was sweating. I was about to give up. Then the shovel went CLANG. I started digging with my hands. The dirt was cold. There were fat white grubs. They were so nasty. But I kept going. Then I saw it. A rusty metal box. It looked like a pirate chest. I pulled it out. It was SO HEAVY. I wiped the mud off with my shirt. Mom’s going to kill me, I thought. But whatever.

That’s when I saw my name. LEO. Carved right into the metal. The letters looked exactly like my handwriting. I stared at it for a long time. I’d never buried this box. I’d remember doing something that cool.

I pulled the rusty latch. It snapped off. I fell backwards on my butt. The box flew open. Inside was a gross old notebook. It smelled like Grandma’s attic. There was also a green army guy, a wrinkled paper, a cloudy marble, and a Snickers bar. It looked like it’d been through a war. I opened the notebook. The first page said: “Today I’m ten years old. I’m writing this because I’m scared. I don’t want to be scared anymore. So I’m burying all my scared in this box.”

My stomach felt weird. I was ten years old. And that handwriting was mine. I KNOW my handwriting. I kept reading. There was a page about Dad being sick. About his bad cough. About Mom crying in the bathroom which meant she was scared. I remembered all of that. Dad WAS sick. He went to the doctor. Mom said he was okay, but she’d said it in that voice. The voice that means she was lying.

The last page said: “Leo if you’re reading this, you’re strong now. You found the box. The scared is still there. But YOU’RE still here. That’s what matters. Also I hid a Snickers. It’s probably gross. Sorry.” I sat in the dirt for a long time. I looked at all the stuff I had buried, all the worries, and I chose to forget about them. I put them in the ground and they went away. But not really; I knew they were just hiding.

Just then, Mom called me in for dinner, so I grabbed the box and carried it inside. I put it under my bed, right next to my baseball glove. I wouldn’t bury it again. This time, I wanted to remember that I was scared and that I survived. And for the record, I was still a little scared about Dad. But that was okay. Everybody’s scared sometimes. Even tough grown ups like mom.