You never know what you lost until you unpack what's in the box.
Unpacking
I haven't been up here in years. I was kind of afraid of the attic when I was a kid. It was always dusty and dark. I felt like I would never be clean again, or worse, I'd be stuck up here and forgotten with the rest of the junk. Just packed away in a box, never to be seen again. Ever since Mom died, I've been putting off coming up here. It was bad enough going through the rest of the house. Coming up here felt like an invasion into the past. I'm breaking into King Tut's tomb and a curse will fall upon me.
This place is a mess. Boxes in no particular order are scattered around the large open room. Exposed beams make navigating the labyrinth hazardous. I can't find anything. I also have no idea what's actually up here, so it doesn't really matter, does it?
My foot catches on a loose board tripping me. I reach out to break my fall using my forearm after a split-second decision. God knows what I'll fall on and I don't want to touch anything. There could be spiders. Please don't let there be spiders. My arm slams into the edge of a wooden box, but blocks my face from the same fate. I dust myself off and appraise the box that just assaulted me. I can't bring it to court, so I'll have to take justice into my own hands and demand reparations.
I walk around the box to see that it's a small trunk. Dark leather panels cover the outside of the box, cracks giving away the box's age. The brass fittings and rounded corners are tarnished black and scratched. I remember a slightly less beat up version of this in my mother's room when I lived here. That must have been ten or fifteen years ago. It was always in the corner of her bedroom, locked, but she never opened it. What's it doing up here?
I check the lock and find it won't cooperate with me. Clearly this lock doesn't know me. I run downstairs, two steps at a time, to the kitchen closet and grab a claw hammer. This box was giving up the contents whether it liked it or not.
I race back upstairs and start to pry open the lock, waiting for a snap. I kept expecting my mother to pop up behind me, scolding me for going through her things. It was always scolding, she never yelled. That almost made it worse when you got in trouble.
The lock yielded and flipped open on its rusty hinge. Let's find out what treasures hide behind the dark panels. The stiff joints squeak as I force the top open. Stale air leaks out causing me to cough. It smells like wet newspaper and firewood. The inside of the trunk is lined with red flannel, like a lumberjack's shirt, but quickly draws my gaze to the out of place pile of items at the bottom.
There's an envelope. With my name on it. Creepy. Underneath the envelope is a box, just plain white about the size of a cigar box. This smaller box is locked too. Today is not my day. But why would you put a locked box inside of another locked box? This is weird.
I set the box aside and pick up the envelope. I can feel something sliding around before I break the seal, so I open the envelope carefully. When I empty the contents into my hand, I find a letter, two pages long, and a key. The key looks like it might open the small box, but the letter grabs my attention. It's my mother's handwriting.
I place the key on top of the box and sit down next to the trunk. It's been about a month since my mother died. I didn't think I could still be this emotional with her stuff, but this is different somehow. It's personal.
I wipe away the tears collecting on my cheeks and read the opening line:
Chris,
I knew you'd break into the trunk sooner or later. You never liked secrets, but this is one I had to keep from you. If you're reading this, then I'm gone. I'm sorry to leave you alone. You can take care of yourself. You always have. I know you'll be ok.
I want you to know that I love you dearly. I always will. I need you to believe that more than anything. This is hard for me, knowing that I can't be there to explain or defend myself, and I should be. I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life the day you were born, but there is never one day that I regret it.
I am not your biological mother. You were born on June 18th, 1984. That is true , but not by me. Your mother was a young woman, single and alone in a hospital room, and I was her nurse. I was with your mother the moment you were born.
I don't know why I did what I did that day, but I made the decision and never looked back. You were a twin. Your brother was born first, healthy as any baby could be. You were not.
There were complications when you were born. The umbilical cord had wrapped itself around your neck during labor. When you were born, you were blue.
The doctor tried to revive you and nothing worked. Eventually, we gave up. The young woman cried for the child she had lost and cried for the child she still had.
I was tasked with sorting out the details regarding you. I carried you to the next room to start paperwork for a stillborn, but you started to cry.
At first, I thought I was hearing things, just an echo from your brother, but it gradually grew louder, and then you kicked. I couldn't believe what was happening. Five minutes ago, you were dead. I saw it with my own eyes, but there was no arguing that you were alive. That was the moment I made the worst mistake of my life. I ran.
I took you in my arms and I ran as fast as I could. Let the woman mourn the loss of a son she never knew over the cries of her firstborn. I became a mother that day.
I don't know what made me do it, but I would do it again. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I can't blame you for hating me, and I'm sure you do, but I have one more thing to tell you in this letter.
The key in the envelope opens the box, as you no doubt realize. Inside that box is something I should have given you years ago, but didn't have the courage. Inside you will find the name and address of your twin brother. I kept him from you all these years, but now I have a chance to fix that.
I wish I could do the same for your biological mother, but I can't. She died from breast cancer when you were seventeen. I hope you can forgive me for being a coward and not telling you sooner, but I couldn't face you.
Just know that I love you, now and always.
Mom
A teardrop stains the signature as I let my hands fall to my lap, clutching the pages. I have a brother? I was adopted? Kidnapped? I don't even know what I'm thinking. I want to punch something and jump for joy all at the same time. Too many thoughts run through my head. I feel betrayed and angry. What else did she lie about all these years? Are there more secrets hidden away in the attic?
The small white box sits next to me, suddenly a viper wrapped in light. So much is held in such a small box. My hopes and expectations. My mother's fears and regrets. And I have the key. I can play Pandora and release the evils in ignorance, or I can be Schrodinger, ever wondering if the cat is dead or alive.
Right now, I have a key, a box, and a whole house I still have to pack.
I assume this is a fiction. At first I was enjoying the humor of dealing with dust, spiders and other evil things in the attic, like the inanimate box that is somehow culpable in a lawful liability suit.
And then, you get down to the dark and dirty secret of a kidnapping and a twist in the story that changes everything to a tearjerker. Great job!
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