When I was nine, my friend and I buried a time capsule in her grandmother’s backyard — a dented coffee can wrapped in two layers of duct tape and my deepest sense of mystery. Inside were the essentials: a friendship bracelet, a Polaroid of us, a note written in sparkly pen, and one half-eaten roll of Life Savers (which, I believed, would surely age into a priceless antique).
We buried it beneath th…