Abandoned

Small town life had never been anything special. If you drove far enough to the west, you could stumble across some hills. But go too far, and it continued on to become flat brown fields and dust. Bland and tasteless; home of manufacturers that bulldozed and demolished what little history might have been salvageable. Miles of gravel roads turned into miles of dirt roads, back to gravel, and eventually pavement.

Finding recreational activities was much of the challenges of growing up. I often found myself wandering around the endless roads, driving for hours looking for adventure.

One warm summer day, I stumbled upon something that immediately intrigued me, and would continue to do so. Something that would change my life forever.

As it turned out, with the vast open country being so plentiful, so were abandoned properties. It started with me stumbling upon random brush filled yards purely by chance, gazing through my smeared car windows for just a moment and then simply driving on. Eventually though, I started forcing the four wheels of my small blue car onto a driveway on which I had no business being. Then, I started gathering my wiry nerves and peering on tip toes through shattered windows, covered in old spiders and dead bugs. But that wasn't enough.

Eventually, I started squeezing my shaking body, riddled with excitement and anxiety, through splintered barn wood doors with red rusted hinges and exploring the mysterious contents within. Sometimes I found rare items, old trinkets, dull antiques and even toys made of lead. The thrill was all of the not knowing. What could possibly await for me on the other side of the mold covered walls? Thinking back now, I should have been more concerned with updating my tetanus shots.

Days carried on, as time does without regard, and I found yet another home. Rather, a carcass of a home. Only this one was nothing like the rest. I had never seen anything like it before.

The outside looked as most abandoned houses do. The yard was overgrown with weeds and grass that had a comparable height to myself. It was littered with trash and remnants of things that were intended to be indoors, things like pots, mugs and for some reason the oven. That was something I never understood, the randomness of items left behind. Intriguing as the yard was, the most thrilling part of these adventures was always on the inside.

On the front porch, wispy vines with brown crunchy leaves swam in the breeze, reminding me that there was a time this was not just a house, but rather, a home. I scanned the exterior for just a moment longer, until the curiosity became overwhelming, coursing through my veins. I reached for the tarnished cold metal and turned the knob. The door was unlocked, as they usually were, and it squealed against the dirty wooden floor as I forced it open.

The first thing my gray eyes captured was multicolored paisley wallpaper that was peeling back against the decaying walls, revealing the wooden skeleton of what once was. The next thing that caught my eager attention was all of the unwashed torn clothing and shoes scattered throughout the entire room, invading most of the floor. The strange part to me was that the shoes were many different styles, colors and even various sizes. It seemed like an endless amount, and the most common amongst them was a small women's shoe.

I carried on, craning my neck around to look behind every door, through each room and down every stairwell. This house was nothing like the others I had encountered. The floors were covered in filth, and not just the shoes. Cupboards were left open with seemingly most of the dishes left inside. Drawers in the kitchen were tossed helplessly onto the ground, and the mice and bugs ravaged what they could of the leftover crumbs. Even the countertops still laid foundation to outdated appliances, things that someone simply didn't bother taking with them. It appeared that whoever had previously lived here hadn't just left in a hurry, they had escaped.

The architect who brought this building to reality had somehow managed to fashion the tiny amount of leftover space under the stairs into a bathroom, complete with a bathtub, toilet and a sink. At this point, my curiosity began to turn into what I made myself believe was concern, but in truth, it was fear. Who leaves behind their toothbrush? Their hair brush and medications? Baby clothes?

My legs began to shake, but I didn't want to stop. I couldn't. I wanted to see more. I travelled back through the kitchen and into a bedroom. Much like the other rooms, the flooring was hardly visible beneath the destruction and debris. The bed and mattress were left behind, and had been thrown up against the wall in complete disarray. Even the floorboards were missing in some areas, leaving gaping holes with rough splintered edges. I began sifting through the mess, coming across ripped pieces of magazines, catalogues and other old mail that was strewn about the place. Amongst them was an old yellowed card that read

"My most sincere condolences, Annie. Know in your heart that he is resting in a better place above the clouds. Sending my love to you and your family,

love, Polly."

My heart sank a little into my stomach. Perhaps it really had been a tragedy that abandoned this place. To think that life could change in a split second, and something you cherished and loved could simply disappear. Who was Annie? What had happened to her? Her family?

I came to the conclusion that it was time to go. Was it somehow disrespectful to stay? I couldn't decide. I maneuvered my body over and around the trash and disorder as I backtracked towards what was left of the slanted doorway. Before I got there, however, something caught my eye. It was nothing more than a glimpse, perhaps a trick of the light, but it was enough for my legs to rebel against my mind. I stopped, just to hang around for a moment longer.

Buried under and old box that’s only purpose had once been to house a collection of mason jars was a book. A notebook. At first it looked unassuming, it was rather small and the black cover was worn and faded, having faced the wraith of the years. Dirt and grime clung to its edges; it would never let go. My fingertips ran across the dry ragged pages, flipping through.

It appeared to be a diary. Was it Annie’s? There was a sure way to find out. I began to read.

“This morning I woke up feeling ill, as I do most days now. The sickness is always worse first thing, but my mother warned me about that. I grow tired throughout the day. But I have work to do, the yard won’t tend to itself and the garden needs to be weeded. I wish Benjamin was here to help. I’ll have to wait another day or two.”

I carried on, not thinking of the privacy I was invading. I didn’t care.

“Benjamin and I had a lovely few days together, he seems stressed. Work takes him away from me often. I do what I can on my own. We won't have many more times like this. I feel the thumping on my belly, it will be time soon.”

My hands trembled with anticipation as I turn over page after page, eagerness coursing through my blood. The diary continued, sharing the day to day story of Annie and Benjamin. The further I read, I found out they had been married and they were expecting their first child. It was sweet, pulling at my heart strings.

I was almost through to the end when the fairytale took an unexpected turn. This time, it didn’t seem like mundane entry, but instead, a letter addressed to her husband. A letter; yes.

“Dear Benjamin,

How are things? I spend most days in the house, I can’t seem to keep it clean. The baby is doing well. She sleeps often, and I like her company. I saved enough now, she has a real bed, right next to ours. I see your smile when I look at her. I haven’t given her a name yet, seems selfish to do that without you. I wish you were here. Please come home soon.”

For a moment, I was stuck in time. My mind was spinning, but I stood perfectly still. I couldn’t stop reading. I remained focused on this little black book, not willing to part with it. There were just a couple of pages left.

“Hi Ben,

It’s been awhile since I’ve written, I know. Edith just had her first birthday yesterday, she is growing so fast. She loves to play in the flowers outside, like we used to do. Edith, I named her Edith. I thought you would like that. I can’t wait for you to meet her. Please come home.”

There was one single, weathered page left. It was a curious thing, writing letters with no address.

“Benjamin,

They tell me you won’t be coming back. That I should move on, perhaps find a new house and leave these memories behind. I don't think that I can. Edith, she is five now, and so full of questions that I can’t bare to answer. I’m writing to let you know that I miss you so much. We miss you. I have left all of your things in the basement, the box is in the pantry. Right where you left it. I haven't been down there since you've gone. Simply can’t bring myself to it. I love you, Benjamin, and I always will. Perhaps I will see you again. Maybe soon.”

I closed the book, realizing I had been anchored to the ground for nearly a half hour. My mind wasn’t any more still than it had been before; going around and around in circles. I couldn't help but think about what I would leave behind one day. I dragged my feet successfully out of the bedroom and glanced around once again. There was one door that remained unopened. The basement.

It was dark. So dark I needed a flashlight. The stairs creaked under my weight and for a moment I thought they might collapse. Never before had I seen such disarray. Heaps of furniture, fridges and old tools cluttered every surface. The ceiling hung so low I had to bunch my back as I stumbled through the mess. I noticed a work table, across it were tools spread and scattered about. Tools I hadn’t seen before, and it took a moment for me to figure out what their purpose was.

Ah. Benjamin had been a shoemaker.

I hovered for a moment. Wondering what he had looked like in his life, what this whole place had looked like. Then, I moved on. I could feel dust gathering in my lungs, the very air felt heavy. But I wasn’t finished just yet.

There it was, the very last place that I hadn’t seen, tucked away in a back corner. The pantry.

I brushed the cobwebs out of my face and inched my way forward, hoping my body was still with me. Once inside, I questioned yet again what had happened here. The shelves were stacked full of jars containing fruits, jams, meats and other unidentifiable foods.

There, on the top shelf was a box. Presumably, the one I had just read about. My body burned with adrenaline. Had my heart stopped or was it pumping so fast I could no longer feel it?

I reached for the box with greedy hands, though I was very uneasy. It was covered in muck just like the rest of the place, and I couldn’t make out what color it was supposed to be, but it looked to be an old shoe box. Fitting. My hands tremored in the glow of my flashlight and I saw that they too, were covered in dust.

I opened the box.

For a moment, I didn’t know if what I was seeing was real. Inside the old box was the last thing I would have guessed.

Money. Not just a couple dollars. There was a lot of money. More than I had ever seen in my life.

20,000 dollars.

I still like to drive around the never ending roads. I still stop to admire an old barn barely able to stand upright. I still open up those front doors to places that haven’t had the touch of a human in years. But now, it feels different.

I always thought I wanted to live a simple life; humble and safe. Never thought I would leave my home town, not because I liked it, but because I didn’t know where I would go.

Tucked away in the ceiling of my bedroom is an old shoe box. It’s contents remain untouched.

Why, you might ask?

I’m not sure.

One thing I am sure of, though. When I die, I want to be remembered by something more. I want to be remembered by who I am, and the things that I’ve done. Not by all the things that I own.

I spent hours and hours, lost, wandering around abandoned houses. A ghost in someone else's story.

Now its time to start living in my own.