Corners

The faded embroidered cushion I rest upon atop the creaky wooden seat by the window has comforted me my whole life whenever deep thoughts come up from my heart and into my head.

Nestled there, I knew the summer light would increase and expand my days for the next few months whilst I prepared to leave home and attend college in the Fall. Bittersweet emotions crisscross my mind. I let out a rather long sigh into my round lemon yellow room. I love it in this old Victorian home that has been in my family for several generations.

Am I ready to leave my room? My little oasis. Can I leave this space and create a new one? I will have to work very hard, I determined. While I feel I would (work hard, that is) finding funds for education weighs on my mind. I resolve, however, that I can do it no matter how long it might take. Auntie often stated "Perseverance is key". "You learn to stand on your own two feet", Dad would say nodding. Into the air, I nodded in agreement.

I feel a bit torn looking forward with my childhood still beckoning me from my closet, a place where I played and dreamed, a place where everything was possible. I rise and walk to the closet door.

Walking into the closet it feels cozy. My fort. My own little house. My quiet pondering place always perfect for me as I grew and changed. Perfect for listening to the house breathing. Creaks and knocks, scents of old wallpaper from another era somehow infused into its very walls. So many years of life and living echoing around this grand home. I love unusual spaces. I love hiding places.

Sitting again on my closet floor, I take in the smell and relish the reflection of so many memories. I look at where my shoes perch in the over-door organizer and laugh a little. I used to fill those shoe pockets with little ghosts made out of toilet paper and string. I look at the light bulb chain where I hung a macramé rope long ago so I could reach it from sitting. I look at the wooden floor- with a little rug, paint stains, various dents, and scratches. I know every one of those. Nostalgia floats inside me.

My attention keeps getting caught toward a back corner where the baseboard seems loose. I never seemed to notice this before. Any loose floorboards hiding something? The floorboards are tight as I assess my closet with new curiosity. That baseboard seems parted from the wall ever so slightly. Why did I never notice this? Hmm.

I lay on my tummy, crossing my ankles placing my hand on the wood. It moves a smidgen. Trying again I can just get my fingers under it and thought if I break the whole thing, I'll be in for it. But that corner section just wasn't as uniform as the other side of the closet. This had a seam where the baseboard had clearly been cut and then replaced. Hmm.

Ever wonder about the people that lived in a house before you? Their energy still slightly palpable, their decorative remnants still visible (like the wallpaper in the closet), a beautiful sconce on the wall you've spent years turning on and off knowing that if it wasn't there, you would so miss it.

I decided I could replace the wood easily enough with a hammer and nail. I fit my hand over the board again and pull. Nope. I try to loosen it by moving it back and forth. Nope. Next, I pull and jiggle it. Yes! It came off in one piece and as I lay it aside I can see a small dark hole. Turning on the closet light and closing the door for privacy I put my face to the area and peer in. I cannot see well since my head blocks the light and shines everywhere but where I need it to.

Bouncing down the stairs and into the kitchen I open the drawer where my father keeps a few household tools for quick fixes. My parents stop mid-sip of their tea while I whizz past flashlight in hand, and race back upstairs catching my breath while closing the door ever so quietly, pulling my hair back into a ponytail, readying myself for the find of my life.

Peering into the dark space there wasn't much to see at first glance. Reaching inward and patting around produced dust bunnies and cobwebs. I shuddered. It was in the front left corner I felt a piece of paper nudged into a small crevice. Huh. Pretty tricky, I thought. I was able to grasp the paper with two fingers and ease it out. Map of maps? Errant wallpaper? Weird insulation? I step into my room the piece of paper catching colors from slanting rays from my stained glass window. Magical. I carefully open the paper. In faded pencil it reads:

Dear Ancestor,

Up the stairs into the attic in one of the boxes tucked into the back dormer, there is a little black book.

Eureka! Was I actually reading this? Did I really find this? My heart beats fast at the thought of some secret and I sigh with satisfaction. I have no doubt in my mind I must find that black book.

On the third floor, I can make out through the dirty attic window the orange glow of sunset. Time has flown by as I sit with boxes and dust around me. The musty smell of age fills my nostrils. I like it. I sneeze.

As my eyes take in the color of dusk, I know I would venture up into the rafters of this old house tomorrow- because that book is drawing me up here. It pulls at my heart.

Waiting for morning feels like an eternity. Finally climbing back up into the attic I feel a renewed vigor as I eye the corner where I should keep looking. There I spy four smaller boxes tucked in the back marked with pen stating the contents except for one. I grab that one.

Sitting near the window, I open the box. Books, old books. I flip through a couple in case something might fall out of the pages but, no. Crinkly documents I don't look at.

My fingers start to have a grimy, papery smell. Halfway down into the box the items are placed in a very uniformed pattern - everything fitting as best as it can. It feels like I am undoing a puzzle as I lift everything out. And there it is. There it is!

Front left corner a little black book - a notebook of sorts. I stand holding it unbelieving. Its cover is hard and looks just slightly worn. Oh boy, I silently exclaimed. Would it be empty? I hold it in my hands and breathe it in. It has a feel to it I love. The paper still looks pretty clean and I can tell it had been beautifully white. There is a ribbon as a placeholder. It is soft and green. There is only some discoloration a bit at the top edges, like where someone would turn the pages. Hmm. I place it on my lap and slowly open it. The binding gives. How long ago was this placed here and why I wonder. Why hide the note in the closet? Who could this ancestor be that wanted to reach through time to maybe me.

I read and read through each and every line absolutely mesmerized and so astonished. This relative is SO like me! What a find. I can't believe it. I cannot believe my imaginings.

Heading down the attic stairs, down the hall and the grand stairway I hesitantly turn toward the kitchen. I can hear my Mother and Father discussing something. They seem excited - loud then quiet. Laughing and then kind of shocked. What is going on?

With the book in hand, I round the corner intent on entering but bump into my mother instead. I gasp. As my mother's eyes glance at the book and back to me, I feel like a traitor. Her eyes widen in recognition. I swallow. I thought now I really AM in for it. Her arm comes around me and the tension breaks as she lightly says, "Gee, I thought that would be hidden for a long, long time!”. As her face opens into a bright smile she states she was just coming to get me. My long-lost ancestor.

My father calls from the kitchen asking where have I been all day. He laughs beckoning me to the table. I feel uncertain as I take a seat recalling their earlier odd dialogue. I am still regrouping with utter relief from running into my mom.

We all sit looking at one another. Hmm. Dad looks as though he is the cat that ate the canary. Then he pushes a rectangular paper toward me and I think not another note? I take a sharp breath in as I turn it over. It's a check with the most zeros I had ever seen written out to me for $20,000. My mouth agape I look up at my parents. "From Auntie", says mom. She gently takes her diary from my hands as I read on the front left corner memo line of the check "Perseverance is key."