I closed the book and put it down. I felt renewed. Refreshed. Like waking up from a long nap. The rain continued, but I pushed myself out of my shelter, and walked into the island, in search of the treasure. I tried to retrace the steps I took when I first found it, years ago. But the grounds were too unfamiliar. I stayed positive, energized by Dmitri's story of perseverance and success.

I walked all over, searching for the treasure, but I still couldn't find it. The sun was setting, and I decided to go back to the canoe. I was hungry, and two marshmallows awaited, with a half a chocolate bar for dessert. When I turned around, a snake slithered across my feet. It scared the pants off me, and I jumped about ten feet across, right into a tree hidden behind the bushes.

Once I could see straight, I checked out the tree that had just clobbered me. Its trunk was thick and white—vaguely familiar. I set my gaze from the trunk up to the leaves. Then it all came back. It was the same weeping willow from years ago. I remembered it perfectly—it had a wide, white trunk, and stood behind two bushes. It must've been the only weeping willow on the island. The treasure, I knew, was close by.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture that night I first found the box. We were all around the tree. Matty was across from me, holding one of the joints in his mouth. There was a thick branch hanging right above him, and he was burning its leaves with the lighter. Chris was beside him, holding the other joint, and then Chris's girlfriend, and then me. Chris handed me the end of his joint. I held it, though I didn't want to, took a puff, and then tripped out. I said I had to leave to pee. Then I walked off. I went in the opposite direction of Chris. He was to my right, so I must've gone left.

That night was clear in my mind. I pictured it as sharp as a movie. Now all I had to do was retrace my steps. I walked around the weeping willow to find the branch that hung above Matty's head. I needed to place myself exactly where we stood.

I found the branch. I stood where Matty stood, then walked across to where I stood. I imagined Chris to my right. I turned to the left, and walked to where I had gone to pee. It was deja vu all over again. I half expected to get caught before I could take the treasure, just like last time. Thankfully, the coast was clear. I followed the same path I had taken to pee. But, last time, I didn't find the treasure walking down the path. I had tripped over a branch. It was only once I fell on the ground that I found the treasure.

By now, the sun had set on the island. It was dark besides the moon and stars. Rain splashed in the wind. There was only one thing I could do to properly retrace my steps. I lay down on my belly near the place I had tripped years ago, and I crawled, searching from that vantage point, for the top of an old, native treasure box.

I swam in that guck, searching for the treasure—breast stroke, butterfly, front crawl and back, feeling all over for that box. Rocks skinned my knees, sticks poked my sides, mud got stuck in places that, to this day, I can't unstick. At first, I thought everything I touched was the treasure chest. Later, I thought nothing was. The entire time I knew I looked idiotic, lying in that dirt. But after all I had endured, any sense of shame had left me. I remained dogged. The treasure was somewhere. I just had to find it.

Each false started pushed me to look a little longer, to toughen up, to become even more dogged. It was the only way to quiet the ringing thought that the guy flat on his stomach, limbs spread in the mud, was not, in fact, crazy. The more vigorously I searched, the quieter the thought that there was no treasure. That I had imagined the whole thing. That I was actually in some kind of life crises, and my mind was playing tricks on me, coming up with this ridiculous tale to avoid the truth—I was lost in a world that wasn't made for me, a world with rules I wasn't following, a world that had sent its guards to set me straight.

Swimming in the mud, both steadfast and insecure, midway through a side stroke, I felt my leg brush against a plank of wood. I stretched further, my foot travelling down the plank. It felt like a big piece of bark fell off a tree. It felt like another false start. But when I turned to investigate, I saw it was the real thing. What I had spent this whole time looking for. It was—I swear to God—the lid of the treasure chest, exactly how I imagined it, with the emblem carved in the middle.

At first, it didn't register. I looked down again. There was the box, covered in mud, rain pouring down on it. It didn't feel real. All this work and day-dreaming, and there it was, poof, like magic, one second later. I cleared the lid and opened the box. Gold bars were stacked to the top. Just like I always imagined it.

I jumped up and down, shouting, "Oh my God" over and over and over. I dropped to my knees, put my hands on my head and started laughing. I got up and ran around. I dropped back down, exhausted. I couldn't wait to show Matty, Chris and Ema. Max. My mom and dad. I was right all along. I couldn't even believe it. My life would change forever. I wouldn't be a loser for not going to university. I'd be a genius. Rich. A local hero. All the pain was worth it. This would be my new beginning. Oh my God.

I got up and ran back to the treasure. My engines, which were empty only minutes ago, had now been filled with hope and excitement, some of the cleanest, rarest, priciest fuel around. The box was right where I left it. The gold inside sparkled in the starlight. I dug out the box with my hands, until it looked like I was wearing mud for gloves. I hadn't accomplished much. The rain made the dirt heavier, and harder to handle.

I ran back to the canoe, carefully marking my route, took the paddle, and returned to the treasure. I used the paddle to finish digging out the box. The chest was smaller than I remembered it, about the size of a big bookbag, except, of course, it was rectangular and made of wood. Also, it was heavy as all hell. I could barely pick it up. Instead, I had to drag it all over the place.

Once I had removed the chest, another thought occurred: What if there were more of these suckers buried on the island? I dug around all night, until the rain turned to drizzle and then mere mist. It wasn't hard to stay awake. Bugs ran all over me, as I dug them from their homes, but I didn't care. Unfortunately, my digging produced no more treasure. If there was more on the island, I couldn't find it.

As the night ended, and the morning sun rose, I slid under the tree, feeling fuller than full, despite my grumbling stomach. I lay there for a little while, staring at the orange sky. The storm had ended, and taken the heat wave along with it. The air was fresh. The breeze was crisp. I could see down the river to what seemed like the ends of the earth. By my side was the treasure. The world felt like an entirely different place. Mud caked to my shorts. My stomach twisted with hunger. But my God, what a beautiful world it was!

Now, all I needed was to bring the gold home. I couldn't well bike it back. The solution, of course, was as clear as the sky: Max. He had to drive the laundry into town today. He told me so. He could give me a lift to Kinnard.

It probably wasn't more than six in the morning. The sun only just rose. I needed to get back to Max's bunk before anyone woke. I dragged the treasure to the canoe in a hurry. It was the only thing I loaded onto it. I went back to burry my book, The Grand Adventure of Dmitri Waltz, where the treasure once was. I wouldn't need the book anymore. All the pages were stuck together. Besides, it seemed the right place for it. I didn't have time to say goodbye to the book, to thank it for its support. It was a better friend and a wiser teacher than any real person I had known. As I paddled to Camp Okanagan, the treasure at my feet, my face to the rising sun, I imagined what I would have said at the burial ceremony. It probably would've gone something like this:

Dear book,

Thank you for all you've given me. You were a friend when I was lonely, a teacher when I was ignorant, a coach when I just couldn't play. You'll never know how much you've changed my life. All you do is give. I wish I could return to you even a fraction of what you've given me.

From the moment we met, all I wanted was to hang out with you. When I was lost, you taught me what it meant to adventure. It was your idea that I find the treasure, really. And every night of that journey, when I just couldn't go on, I'd come to you and ask your advice. I didn't need to tell you my fears and insecurities. You already knew. You shrugged off my desperation. It was nothing, you said. Everyone who ever adventured had felt the same way. Don't worry, you repeated. Every story is fantastic in the telling. Just wait. Yours will be too.

I didn't always believe you. But you didn't seem to mind. All you asked was that I listen to your story. Your story—you quietly insisted, with each adjective, quotation, and exclamation—was real. There may not have been a boy named Dmitri, a magician or a Parisian Inn. But that didn't make the book any falser. Because the shame and desire Dmitri felt at the Viennese Cafe—that was real. The naïve optimism Dmitri felt running away—that was real. The loneliness Dmitri felt at the circus—that was real. The love Dmitri felt for Inès and the lust he felt for Ruth—those were real too. I know, because I've felt many those feelings, in my own small way. And those feelings I haven't yet felt, well, at least I know what to look for when they come around.

Without your existence, book, the world would be a terribly cold place. I'm not sure I could manage it. So thank you. For bearing the world on your shoulders and carrying it so gracefully. For giving a life's worth of wisdom for nothing at all, not even a thank you. You may not ask it, but it's the least I could give you. Thank you, book. There's no way I can repay you. But I can promise that I appreciate you.