The drive up the hill was long and cool. Fall had come and the leaves on the trees had browned and threatened to fall to the ground like dying angels. Magdalene Hamato no longer had to keep her windows open to bring a breeze in. Soon it would be cold enough where she could begin to turn on the heater and prepare for snow.
The farmhouse came into view and what normally would have sparked happiness and excitement in the woman's heart now brought a sinking feeling. But she had promised to come up that day, and come up she would.
Maggie parked the car and let the door slam shut behind her. The property was too quiet for her taste but she felt as though if she said anything, it'd be deafening. It felt almost unholy to say anything. Besides, even if she wanted to, she knew she couldn't. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth.
The woman left the car behind and headed for the farmhouse. It had run in her family. It once belonged to her great grandmother and was inherited by her mother's aunt before her parents took it over when they were in their late teens early twenties after having her. It had character that no other house had back in the city. It had a 50's style to it with a farmhouse nearby that her parents converted into a garage and guest house. It took them a while to repaint the old place, touch it up and fix what was broken...but in the end it was worth it. The house was beautiful.
Maggie took out her key for the front door but discovered that it already was wide open. She let herself in and looked around. Despite the cozy organization of furniture and pictures on the wall, it felt empty.
"Maggie, is that you?" A small voice called out from the kitchen area.
"Yeah, mom. It's just me." She walked to where the voice was and entered the small kitchen. Her eyes landed on the shrunken figure of her mother. Even though April was only in her late seventies, she looked good for her age. Strong...unlike most women her age, Maggie noticed. Her mother had wrinkles and greying hair, but could probably pass for being closer to Maggie's age than being nearly in her eighties.
But now, April just looked...Maggie wasn't sure how to describe her. Her age showed in her eyes and she looked defeated. She sat at the kitchen table she and her family had sat around as she grew up. Her mother stared at the untouched cup of green tea in her hand, her faded orange hair down and falling around her face and down her shoulders and back.
"Hi, mom." Maggie's voice sounded weak. It cracked and it startled her. April's blue eyes gazed up at her and she weakly smiled.
"Hi, baby. Thanks for coming up. I know it's hard with your schedule and all, but it means a lot."
"Anything I can do to help, mom."
April nodded. "I don't have the heart to clean up or pack away anything. Everything he had was...simple. He didn't really have a lot, and what he did have is the essentials around the house."
Maggie glanced around the kitchen and living room. The normally clean house was dusty with cobwebs that began to form in places and the sink was filled with dirty,stacked dishes. Her mother had always scolded her and her father if they ever left the sink like that. When had things gotten so bad?
"I'll clean up a little for you, mom. Just relax...okay?"
April sadly nodded. Maggie took the dishes and cleaned them first. It was a long process, but soon they were spotless and she put them in the dishwasher until she could deal with them later. She dusted the shelves and counters, blew away the cobwebs and put away books left out. She glanced at April before turning to leave to work on the rest of the house.
"I miss him so much, Maggie."
Maggie stopped in her tracks, feeling a lump form in her throat. "I miss him too, mom. So much."
She exited and worked on the guest rooms, dinning room, her former room from when she was a kid and the study. She left her her parents' room alone, not wanting to disturb any kind of peace that was there.
When she thought her work was done, Maggie headed for the kitchen to say goodbye to her mother. Passing a dark brown door, she stopped. Turning to look at it, Maggie stood there for so long as she contemplated on entering it or not.
Maggie's hand rose and took the doorknob in her hand. It felt cold and was dusty from not having been disturbed for a good while. The woman swallowed the lump in her throat and opened the door.
The stairs to the basement were dark and a musky smell wafted up and tickled her nostrils. Maggie wanted to shut the door and leave it behind, but she knew she had to go down there.
Maggie took the first step and listened to the wood of the stairs creak beneath her weight. She let her hand guide her along the wall as she descended the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she reached for the switch she knew all to well in the dark and the lights flickered on.
The woman was met with the beautiful sight of her father's lab. The basement had been restored to meet the man's needs. Tables set up, sinks, vents, bookcases...it was magnificent. A lab any scientist would sell a few body parts for. Her father had slaved over it for years when she was very small. Every detail of the place had been thought out and placed precisely to where Donatello could move around with ease and work without the stress of running out of room or wondering where he had left something.
Maggie gazed at the large bookshelf where she knew the secret entrance to the tunnel her father had made was. He had created it so that her uncles and grandfather could visit any time they like. The tunnel connected to the sewers so if anyone were to stumble upon it, they'd think it was just another long, never ending tunnel in a labyrinth of its kind beneath the streets of New York City.
The woman ran a hand through her hair and glanced at the pictures hanging on the walls. They were of her mother, Maggie herself as a baby...photos of her and her mother together, the rest of her family...moments that her father had been proud of over his lifetime. Coming to the picture of her sitting on his lap at three years old, Maggie felt the reality of it all slap her in the face hard.
Her father was gone.
Donatello was dead. Gone. Forever. And he wasn't coming back. It wasn't like he went out to run an errand. The man had died peacefully in his sleep, but she couldn't picture life without seeing the sweet face of the mutant she had grown so accustomed to. She had loved since birth...
Maggie turned and looked at the work bench. She could see a six year old version of herself as she worked with Donatello on a ship in the bottle they had begun months prior. She watched as Donatello let the little girl guide the finishing touches of the ship inside the bottle. The tweezers shook in the girls hands and the part fell to the bottom of the bottle in a failed heap. Six year old Maggie bowed her head, tears in her eyes.
'Hey, it's okay, sweetie.' Donatello said as he kneeled down to be eye to eye with his daughter.
'No, it's not. I ruined our hard work.' Maggie sniffled, rubbing at her eyes. The tears continued to come despite Maggie's protest.
'Aw, hun!' Donatello pulled her into a comforting hug, setting her on his knee. 'Sweetie, it doesn't have to be perfect. This was just the beginning of bigger and better ships. Maybe it's not the instruction's standards, but it meets mine. And I think it's perfect.'
The mutant wiped away his daughters tears and Maggie sniffled and smiled up at him. Older Maggie watched him set her younger self down, take the bottle, stand up and place it on a shelf above the work bench to proudly display.
Older Maggie watched the memory fade away, her eyes on the bottled ship on the shelf. It was dusty and the ship could be seen through the dust and cracks. It really wasn't perfect, but her father refused to take it down. He was too proud of theirhard work to do that...
Maggie turned her attention to the table with her father's chemistry set. She pictured her thirteen year old self adding the finishing touches to a clay volcano. Her father stood close behind her with a remote, a proud grin on his face.
'Alright, let's test this baby out!'
'Dad, are you sure this is a smart idea? I think it's cool we're using chemicals, but are you sure this was the smartest combination?'
'Of course, sweetie! Your teacher will HAVE to give you an A on this. Now, want to do the honors?'
Young Maggie grinned and took the remote. 'On the count of three!'
'One...two...thr-"
BOOM! Older Maggie could almost feel the blast of the volcano blow against her face. It had caused a mini fire when Maggie was a kid and scorched their faces. No one was hurt, but it had put April into a frenzy.
Maggie opened her eyes to find the memory gone. The test tubes and beakers remained empty except for a heap of dust. Her lower lip trembled, longing to relieve the days that played behind her eyes.
She turned to the final thing that caught her eye: her father's chair. It was a beat up office chair that he had scavenged from the junk yard as a teenager. He had fixed it up and patched it in places, but for the most part it looked like it belonged in a trash can, not that lab.
Maggie stepped closer and raised her eyes to an object that dangled nearby. She reached for it and took the object in her hands. It was the goggles her father wore when he invented. They had always been too big for her as a kid. And growing up, they had always been 'dad's goggles.' Not Maggie's. She respected her father's property and just kept it at that.
The woman felt her lower lip tremble again and brought the goggles shakily up to her face. She slipped the band around her head and found that it was still on the big side, but fit better than they had as a kid.
Maggie looked through the dusty, beat up plastic of the goggles and tried to see through her father's eyes. See what made everything so special...she fell back in the chair and sat there, staring through the goggles. The goggles her father wore. The goggles she had once been too small to wear...
"I love you, daddy."
Her voice had scared her. She didn't remember willing her body to say anything. Remember wanting to say that. But once the sentence escaped her lips, she knew she meant it with every ache of her being. And for the first time since her father's death a few weeks ago, she hunched over, rested her elbows on her knees and face in her hands and began to cry.
Reply to Reviews:
Ninjanoodles27: Sure! I was actually coming up with a story for Maggie's love life, actually. Funny you mention it! But I will write a story where you meet her first boyfriend. And her second. I hope I don't disappoint!
Zannab0801: I did research and found out fresh water turtles live to 40-50 years old. Since I picture Donnie having more human genetics than turtle, I added twenty more years so it's short for a human but still longer than a turtle's. :)
Pursilla: Awwwww thank you so much! *hugs you and offers you tissues*