Chapter 4: Attic Excavations
I scrunched up my nose as I crept up the stairs and landed on Planet Dust Ball (also known as our attic). Mountains of formerly brown – currently a grayish green color, due to dust – packages of ancient photographs, wardrobes of clothes from back in the nineties (those would be my parents', not mine), and extremely rusted red tricycles (those would be mine, not my parents'). The roof was slanted, so I had to crouch a bit down and the odd pane of glass here and there allowed filtered sunlight to penetrate into the otherwise dark and dim room. I scrunched up, and wrinkled my nose once more. I only hoped that my allergies wouldn't start to –
"Achoo!"
act up. I gave a loud and noisy sniff, then hiked the bag I was carrying up higher, using my thigh to support it. The thing I was lugging around wasn't so much as heavy as it was bulky. Filled with many, many…
… stuffed animals, all right? If you laugh, I will stop telling this story right now (AUTHOR'S NOTE: not really). It isn't my fault I tend to be particularly attached to my stuffed animal teddy-bears, especially my Winnie the Pooh Bear (he's a classic! How can you not love Winnie the Pooh?), and my entire Care-Bears collection.
Ben was coming in – I glanced at my wrist watch – twenty minutes. I had to clear up these things before Ben arrived. I mean, what would he think of me? Not that I particularly care or anything; it's only because he's a guy. And guys talk about stuff like that don't they? Soon the whole school would be laughing at the fact that I refuse to give away my stuffed animals. Only I don't believe Ben would be the type to blab on me, but still. Not that there's anything wrong with keeping stuffed animals by this age. In fact, I believe people shouldn't try to grow up so fast. I know some kids can't wait to grow up quickly. What is there to really look forward to, though, but paying bills (shudder the thought), working nine-to-five, and coming home only to collapse in a heap, and then do it all over again?
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I am some sort of freaky eighteen-year-old who encourages this Never-Never Land-esque out take on life. All I'm telling you is to enjoy life in the now because you don't know when it will pass you by.
That's a lesson I've learned from constantly working with the dead for nearly my whole life.
And this is probably why I'm so assertive.
But that's just my idea on the whole thing.
With one final kiss on Pooh's cheek, and a pat on his yellowy-fluffy head, I turned on my heel to leave when I bight light from between two boxes beamed up and caught my eye. Instead of heading down the stairs, I walked over to see – not a flashlight as I first suspected – but a glittering, sterling sliver belt buckle that caught a ray of sunlight from one of the windows.
"D?" I read aloud the initial on it confusedly. This was certainly not my dad's. If the letter wasn't a dead give-away, the buckle itself was. It appeared to belong to some pompous, arrogant, conceited man who liked himself (hence, the elaborate 'D') as much as he enjoyed showing off. Then it hit me: What if it belonged to my grandfather, I thought, excitedly. Albeit, I wasn't too happy about the prospect of having a stuck-up, show-off for a grandfather, but… beggars cant' be choosers. 'D'? Daniel, Devon, Derrick, I quickly ran though all the 'D' names that I knew. Then I paused as the idea struck me like a dead-weight. David… Could this actually be my uncle's belt buckle, and not my Grandpa de Silva's?
I sadly started to put it back when I heard my mom's voice calling me from down the stairs.
"Chris!"
"Up here, Mom!" I called.
But if it really was my Uncle David's, what was it doing here in our attic?
"Chris, honey, I was looking all over for you," she reached over, and embraced me, stroking my hair as she kissed me affectionately.
Maybe, I thought, I could get some answers now. "Oh, I was just putting away my stuffed animals," I shrugged, reaching back for the belt buckle.
My mom frowned. "But you love your stuffed animals."
"Don't worry," I told her. "This is only temporary. Hey listen; do you know what this is?"
I handed her the silver thing. It was only when I glanced at my mom's face that I started to think that maybe I should not have done that. All the color had drained from her face and it looked like she had seen a…
a ghost, actually. Yet, the funny thing is, Mom has seen tons of ghosts. This was just a belt buckle. I would have, at any other time, found the circumstance some what amusing, except it wasn't. I was afraid Mom was going to have a coronary any second, so I snatched the thing out of her trembling, white hands. I said in a rush, "Well Mom, that's all right. Forget about the whole belt buckle thing. I'll just put this back…" Or throw it down the pits of Hell. Whichever happened to come first.
"Whe-where did you get this?" Mom asked, not steadily. She was in a horrible trance, still staring at her fingertips, even though there was nothing in them. It was as though she wasn't talking to me, but to herself. "I thought," she continued on. "we had gotten rid of this… long ago."
"Mom?" I asked, alarm sounding through the entire syllable. "Mom, are you all right? Mom, come on," I put my arm around her shoulders, and guided her down the steps. She was immobilized with fear. I wasn't feeling all that cool and courageous myself. Not because of the buckle, but from Mom's reaction to it.
We made it to the landing of the stairs. "I'm going to go finish cleaning my room," I spoke slowly, enunciating my words carefully. "Is there anything you wanted to tell me up there?" I pointed at the attic from where were just came from.
"Oh," My words finally sunk in, and with a slight shake of the head, and small smile, Mom said, "I was going to tell you, I'm leaving to go to the supermarket, do you want anything?"
"Oh no!" I said, dead serious. "Not in that state you're not. You're not going anywhere, much less driving. Go lie down, Mom." The mere thought of it, in my opinion, was out of the question.
"Who's the parent here, you or me?" Mom gave me an amused smile. I felt relieve come over me, like a tidal wave. She was returning back to her old self.
"Fine, go," I smiled, and then called after her as she walked away. "Just be home by three." I sounded like a concerned yet strict parent.
"Watch that tone, missy!" Mom replied back, but with an affectionate laugh. I knew I wasn't in trouble.
