The chest

A soft thud accompanied my decent as I fell to my knees on the old attic floor. I breathed quietly through my mouth as if to spare my nose from the putrid smell of must that encased the old room. In front of me lay an antique. A decayed treasure chest full to the brim with wonders- I had assured myself of the latter many times before. I ran my fingers over the fine wood making tiny lines in the dust caked on from many years of lying dormant. Out of instinct I quickly rubbed my hands on my faded jeans- a bad habit my mother despised. I returned my hands to the chest running my fingers over the rustic lock. I had always thought of it as a withered lover yearning for the reunion of its soul mate. The key. My hand shook as I withdrew the old key from my pocket and slid it into the lock. My excitement rocketed as I turned the key. Nothing. I tried again. I heard the click of rejection. I closed my eyes and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Heaving a sigh I climbed to my feet sending dust bunnies scurrying to shadowed corners. I walked to the trap door my footsteps heavy with disappointment. I turned around having reached the trapdoor. My hand lingered on the chain to the light. I shook my head once my eyes reached the chest and then turned off the light sheltering the attic in darkness. My mother called up to me when I reached the bottom of the stairs. Closing the trapdoor as quietly as I could, I walked down the stairs to the kitchen.
I tried to match my footsteps with my heartbeat, pounding around the corner and pushing open the door to my kitchen. The door banged forward startling my mother who leaned casually on the island in the center of the room. “Honestly Virginia couldn’t you be more gentle with this house? Lord knows no one knocks you about like that.” I nodded only half hearing her. I wandered across the kitchen to the fridge pulling open the door and leaning on it while I surveyed its condense. I heard my mother drumming her fingers on the table like drums in a death march. She only did that when she was annoyed. “Virginia Levine Mercandetti we are not trying to cool the entire house close that door!” I rolled my eyes mumbling an apology and selecting the carton of orange juice on the third shelf. I abandoned the fridge to seek a glass in the cabinet over the sink. My mother jumped when the refrigerator door closed. I poured the juice into my cup and turned to face her hopping onto the counter. “What’s got you so jumpy?” I asked watching the pulp in my juice sink to the bottom of the cup. “Is it dad again?” I saw her look up as if only now hearing me. She glanced back down at her hands picking the pink polish off them. “I don’t know what your talking about.” She was a bad liar. I chewed my thumbnail, thinking. “He called, you know,” She looked up again trying not to look interested. “ He’s staying with his girlfriend. They want me to come visit.” My mother groaned slamming her hand against the table. “God Dammit! Why cant he just go away! I’m so sick of him calling and acting like nothings wrong!” she rubbed her temples in slow circular motions that reminded me of a wind up toy. “Chill mom. I wont go if you don’t want me to” “No baby that’s not it. I just-” She sighed “I just wish he would be more mature about this.” My parents had been separated for two months. “Immature” had become my mothers favorite word for describing my father. I was sure, of course. That my father had words for her too. My mother toyed with her Wedding ring. I can remember asking her about a month ago why she still wore it. She had quickly explained that she had forgotten to take it off. I guess she had forgotten today too. “It’s not that I don’t want you to see him. That’s not it all, he is after all you father.” she was talking more to herself then me now. “You will go and visit them. It’ll be good for you, He is after all your father.” I placed my cup on the counter and slid to my feet “you mentioned that.” My mother sighed pushing herself away from the counter and opening fridge she stooped to retrieve the milk and after opening it threw back her head to drink It straight from the carton. I walked out of the room dragging my feet on the tiles of the floor. I reached the door and turned around to face my mother again, pushing the door open with my back. “The milks bad I said softly motioning to my face, encouraging her to wipe the frothy corners of her mouth. The door swung shut behind me as my mother swore chucking the milk carton at the wall.

I climbed up the stairs to my room my stocking feet padding quietly against each step. My room lingered at the far end of the distant hallway which greeted the stairs in a somber eggshell color. It looked like all life had been sucked out of the corridor. My mother called it “comfortable” she said it made her feel relaxed. I called it morbid and tried to stay as far away from it as I possibly could. My door creaked open when I turned the doorknob. I hated that sound, like nails down a chalk board, two hinges scraping against each other. I remember my father promising to fix the squeak. I had written it off when he told me. He was never good at keeping his word. I walked through the doorway easing the door shut behind me. My room was my sanctuary. It was the one place I would go to be by myself in a comfortable silence, My four poster bed sat in the left corner of my room white sheets billowed over the sides like the canvas sails of a ship. Across the room towered a white bookcase with eleven shelves of thick spined books. I had always found it curious the way books became thicker after you read them. As if all the thoughts you had became trapped inside whatever book you were reading at the time. Next to the bookshelf sat an old leather chair. It’s rich brown color greatly contradicting the smooth white of the bookshelf. I walked across the room to the chair and fell across it draping my legs over the arm. My fingers picked at a lose button on the back of the chair. I sighed dramatically sitting up correctly and running my fingers through my hair to clear my thoughts.
My cat appeared from under my bed arching her back lazily her pink tongue curling in a yawn. She hopped onto my bed her small paws sinking into my comforter like foot prints in snow. “Well I guess I should start packing.” I said standing up and walking to my closet. I pulled a small red suitcase from the top shelf and set it on my bed unzipping it.