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A Roadside Spoon and Walkers

Reflections from the ground

By Rebecca MortonPublished 4 months ago Updated 4 months ago 4 min read
A Roadside Spoon and Walkers
Photo by Nia Ramirez on Unsplash

The following is a stainless steel spoon's-eye account of a real-life event. My child and I saw this spoon on the ground every day on our walk to the school bus stop for many months, but we never knew how it got there or why it stayed there so long. Here, at last, is the spoon's story:

As the sun begins to warm me up, I hope they're on the way, those walkers. The big shadow and the little one, walking side by side, first approaching my stem, then passing by until their heels pass my bowl. I love to hear them laugh, which they almost always do. One of them, sometimes both of them, usually points right at me, as they declare,


The taller one puts out a hand and tells the little one, "Don't touch it. It's got tons of germs. It probably fell out of a garbage can. Though why someone would throw out a metal spoon, I don't understand."

But I wasn't thrown out. I'm not garbage. What the two walkers don't know is I'm not just silverware.

One time, long ago, I flew through the air, out of the loud one's hand and right into the louder one's chest. I think I was a weapon then. I don't think I caused harm, though. I just fell on the ground.

The louder one, named Idiot, got into a car and drove away. The not-as-loud one, named Honey Please, kept the yogurt cup I was with, but left me on the ground and walked back into the house.

Honey Please walks over to me every few days, looks down at me, shakes her head, and goes back into the house. She wants me to stay where I am.

Until the day I flew, I only knew life in the silverware drawer, dark, cool and crowded, and life in bowls, delivering food to mouths. I don't really want to think about that.

But being washed was fun in the kitchen sink, splashing around in soap bubbles and water, drying in the rack, hanging out with plates, cups and pans. If I was out to dry long enough, I got to watch the pans cook food on the stove, or go in and out of the oven!

The dishwasher was dark, loud and scary, with soap and water not lovingly applied like in the sink, but thrown at me from all directions, but it was another change of scene which kept life interesting.

When I first landed on the grass by the road, I thought this was an interesting change as well. I saw the trees, the sun, and the clouds I'd heard about from the plastic spoons. I even got washed when rain fell on me.

That was back during the hot days and warm nights, when I was alone most of the time, lying here on the side of the road, watching cars and enduring dogs' noses, but life didn't really have joy until those two took their morning walks.

It has something to do with the big yellow car they call The Bus. If they see it coming, they run together and don't even talk about me. But most days, they walk more slowly together, point at me, laugh, and talk about me as they're walking.

A few minutes later, The Bus goes to the place the walkers walk to. Shortly after that, the taller one walks back to where it came from without the little one, this time across the street from me, and never gives me a glance.

One time, after the days got colder and leaves fell off the trees and covered me, I heard the two walkers. I felt a little shoe gently move a leaf off my bowl.

"IT'S TILL THERE!!!" the walkers shouted, happily.

Pretty much the same thing happened when the rain froze and became white fluffy flakes that covered me, until the walkers uncovered me with their boots and shouted again,


The bright days and dark nights got warmer again, and I enjoyed seeing the two walkers most mornings until the hot days came back, and then, I didn't seem them for a very long time.

I hoped they would come back when the days got cool again. The rain drying on me was making orange rust form on my stem. Thunderstorms terrified me with the flashing lights and loud noise, but more terrifying than that was the thought that the two walkers wouldn't walk by me again.

Then, one sunny cooler morning, here came the shadows, the tall walker, the little one, AND AN EVEN LITTLER ONE! The two little ones held hands and the taller little one pointed to me.


The littlest one laughed and bent down, holding out the tiniest hand I've ever seen. The tallest one grabbed it and said what she had said before, about germs and a garbage can and how they shouldn't touch me.

There's no way for them to know I'm not garbage.

"But, Mom, maybe it's a magic spoon! How could it survive this whole time if it was just a normal spoon?" said the medium-sized one.

"Maybe you're right," said the tall one.

"Magic spoon! Magic spoon!" shouted the littlest one, jumping up and down.

The walkers, sometimes with the littlest one and sometimes without, call me Magic Spoon every morning they walk by me, now. I like having a name, and I like that the walkers gave it to me.

I don't know why I make them so happy, but I'm glad I do.

HumorShort StoryFantasyfamily

About the Creator

Rebecca Morton

My childhood was surrounded by theatre people. My adulthood has been surrounded by children! You can also find me on Medium here:, and now I have a Substack newsletter at

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