Mom decided to move to Sudbury after Dad died. She brought in an auctioneer and sold almost everything without telling us. The recliner, the bookcase, the canoe: they all went. My brothers and I didn't find out until a week later. Scavenging for leftovers behind the garage, I found a chair that use to belong to my grandmother. Dad used it to prop open the shed door so it wouldn't lock behind him. I accidentally locked myself in the shed for three hours after school one day. It was hot, above 30 degrees, and I was looking for a flashlight so I could read in the cellar. I heard "whoosh, click" and I immediately threw my copy of Treasure Island against the wall where it knocked down a rack of red and yellow screwdrivers. I spent the first hour trying to escape, the second fanning myself and inspecting the lawn mower, and the third passed out. That's when Dad fixed the lock. The chair somehow ended up in the bushes where it stayed, rotting, for a good number of years. Right now, it's sitting in my backyard, smelling like rodent urine and attracting snakes.