The Music Box and Co.

I have this music box. It is red and has a scene of a teddy bear riding a circus pony. When you open a small drawer the pony jumps around and some nice music plays. I don't remember who gave me this music box, nor do I remember how long I have had it. All I remember is what I hid in it.
When I was six or seven I was on a swim team, the coach there went by the name of Harry. We little ones found this amusing in the respect that he had barely any hair. No, Harry was not old; he just liked to shave his head. One time at a swim meet, an all city meet to be exact, I had won first place. Such an accomplishment was received with a small token, a blue ribbon. Not just a ribbon however, but also a medal. I was indeed proud of myself and Harry was too.
I hid said medal in my music box. I left it there. This is rare for me, to hide something, and then leave it there. That's why I can never keep anything special longer then a month. I always lose it. However, this medal was deemed an important thing within the dark corners of my brain, for I left the medal there, within the confines of a small musical box. I guess I forgot about the medal and box because I still have one of the two items with me today.
Part 2: Quest for Maturity

I was now twelve years old, fresh from the sixth grade and the anxieties that came with it. I was going about my closet. (My mother had seen its contents and had ordered me to clean it). Lo and behold I found the red music box, along with three dirty socks, and old doll and a rather dead spider. After screaming for several minutes because of the rather dead arachnid, I picked up the musical box. It did not occur to me to look within the drawer.
It was a few days later, I had an accumulated amount of twenty dollars and I needed a hiding place for it. (Who knows, the goblins might take it, don't try to decipher the mind of a twelve year old, unless you are one) I came to the conclusion that a music box was the perfect place to put it. I open the drawer and there it was, my treasure of the Sea (Rather the pool) it had been there for almost six years, truly amazing.
To bad that I was exactly the same with treasures, as I was when I was six years old. The medal disappeared within a week.
Part 3: Indeed, no longer a treasure
The medal reappeared again near the end of that summer. It was under my bed. Then, at the end of the summer I was soon to be a seventh grader, middle class maybe, but higher then a sixth grader. Then I thought I was mature and very wise, I thought I was better then my parents, and better then any adult who dared to oppose me. For they were out-dated software, people of the past, never truly ever going to understand us.
Back to the point, the medal was under the bed. I picked it up, brushed of the dust and stared at it. This was once a treasure to me, to be held dearly. But I looked at it, and saw that the blue, red and white ribbon attached had faded, and the once shiny, golden metal disk with the swim team insignia on it had dulled. It was worthless. I was spoiled. I no longer needed this childish little medal. The next day it was gone.

Part 4: Epilogue
It is now a year later. I regret losing that medal, although I am sure it is somewhere in this very house, maybe even this very room. I am thirteen and ready to go to high school, face the big leagues. Those feelings of before, when I was in sixth grade are returning to me. The ones where I was scared and small, and in new surroundings. Yes, it would have been nice to have that medal with me now, the medal which I had beaten everyone to earn, the medal which should have been taken care of but wasn't.
I don't have that medal anymore; it's gone somewhere, where all my old treasures go when I lost my need for them. However one treasure, which I had forgotten, still remains, one I'm looking at, in the corner of my eye as I write this. That old music box still remains, yes maybe the paint is wearing, and the pony's dancing has turned slightly erratic. Yet, the music keeps playing, the Bear keeps playing, and I'm still smiling.