The Boomerang.

I’m not sure how I ended up coming home with this thing called a boomerang. I was disappointed by its tacky look. Despite what others thought, it seemed like a mass-produced piece of junk made from a board, with no traditional markings or signs of fireside attunement.

It was a fake—perfectly symmetrical, unlike the boomerang I remembered holding years ago. This one had “Australia” burned into it with an electric wood engraver, a common tool, like an electric fry pan. When I threw it that day, it didn’t come back. I felt disappointed, still depressed, still scared, and still lonely.

It did break, though—along a glue line, if I recall correctly. I also remember my father’s words, which made me go fetch it from over the fence. That only left me feeling more disenfranchised. I threw it away, never to be spoken of again.