Carla Badanjek

My little black book

The devastation Emily felt that day was unlike any other. Her grandmother had been her best friend and biggest cheerleader. Clearing out the remnants of nana’s house was like draining the blood from her body. Each sorted item was a glimpse into the past. The soft and withered stole, once used to play dress up, now felt used and limp like her heart. How could she continue on without her rock, her soulmate? Even though they were generations apart, no one understood Emily like nana. They frequently spent afternoons together, eating cold cucumber sandwiches, and drinking sweet, southern tea. They would laugh and reminisce and soon afternoon turned to evening and Emily would stay the night. Nana told stories of her youth and of how her poppa would play treasure hunt with her. Emily relished the tales and savored the details of each delicate story. Being an only child, whose parents had long ago passed away, it was Emily’s duty and responsibility to make sure nana’s things, once so precious and valuable, found their way to their designated places. Some would be kept, some donated, and regretfully, some thrown away. Each item, to Emily, was priceless and held so much value and meaning. Tearfully, she donated designer clothing, wooden furniture and antiquated books to the goodwill. She threw away broken dishes, tattered tablecloths, and shoes whose heels had worn down long ago. As she cleared the closet, she found an old, worn, little black book. Her curiosity peaked because she had never seen the book before today. As she turned the pages, she smelled, lilacs, roses and amber, fragrances reminiscent of her nana. It was bitter and sweet all at the same time. The little black book contained a treasure map, handwritten and drawn a long time ago. As she skimmed through the pages, she noticed a familiar handwriting style, it was that of her nana’s. The note on the very last page read.