Little Black Book
Little Black Book
I stopped working, too hot to do anymore. I pushed the sweaty hair off my face and looked around for one last box to carry downstairs for sorting. There, that one was papers. I pulled it with me as I crawled backward, down the unstable boards lining the floor of my Mother's low attic. MY attic now, since Mother had died. I gingerly felt with my foot to locate the ladder. The fan blew hot air on my neck as I pulled the string for the bulb. I backed down into my bedroom, tugging the box through the small opening. I knew everything up there had gone through that hole, but some were heavy. The box slid down the ladder. I lifted it as I backed out of the closet, and barely turned before it crumbled. I dropped the pieces and the contents scattered. My dogs yipped under the bed but didn't come out.
