The Enamel Token

The sliding screen door had a small gap at the bottom corner, so I squeezed through to see what was beyond the living room. Stepping onto the rough brick of the patio, I checked each footing to make sure nothing wobbled. Right beside a terracotta flowerpot, nestled in the damp mulch, sat a weathered enamel lapel pin shaped like a vintage train car. It was crusted with dried dirt. Instead of prying it loose by the delicate needle pin, which felt flimsy, I nudged a flat wooden popsicle stick under its edge as a lever. It popped free cleanly. The blue paint is faded, but the stamped locomotive wheels are still crisp.