All That I Have

Eighteen year-old Temperance Brennan surveyed the small room that would be hers for the next several months. It wasn't much bigger than the coat closet in her room at the last foster home she had stayed at, but given the sheer volume of on-campus students, she was pleased not to have the inconvenience of a roommate. Had her goals been weighted more toward the social aspects rather than academic pursuits of college she might have been less pleased, but they were not, and she could not think of any other space that she would rather occupy for the duration.

She laid all of her belongings out on the bed, trying to determine where the best location for each item would be. Roughly sixty percent of her worldly goods were books- both those that she had brought with her from foster home to foster home over the last three years, as well as brand new ones that she had needed to purchase for her classes. Reverently, she placed the older ones on the provided shelf, as if each one were a dear friend. That done, she took several minutes to page through each of her new books, wondering what treasures each had in store for her in the coming semester.

Next came her clothing. The room was so small that no dresser had been provided, so she carefully hung each piece up in the closet, placing her more personal clothing items on the small closet shelf. She wrinkled her nose as she went. Her first act on settling in at the school had been to launder her clothes, but they still retained the distinctive smell of the plastic trash bag that she had transported them in. One of the first items that she promised she would purchase for herself once she began her on-campus job was a proper suitcase.

Finishing with the clothes, she turned back to the bed. Her toiletry items were next, and she set them on what little shelf room was left. She smiled faintly at the small box full of black hair ties, a gift from her high school science teacher who insisted that Brennan would need them to keep her hair tied back during her lab work. It had been a practical gift, and she had accepted it warmly.

Finally, only thing remained. Gently, she picked up the small, metal case and placed it in the closet underneath her clothes. Inside, she knew, were three presents covered in aging paper, along with a red envelope that bore her name in her mother's delicate handwriting. This Christmas would mark the third anniversary of her parent's disappearance, and while she had no plans to open them this year, she held onto them for motivation to work hard and become the best in her field. Perhaps if she succeeded in that, then other people like her would never have to live- as she did- with the weight of unanswered questions.