The Inspiration

Another plum of dust and cobwebs assaulted his face, as he pulled ever more boxes from the attic crawlspace. Dust filling his lungs, dragging out a choking cough.

Three weeks had past, since they had to lay his grandmother to rest.

It was time to collect her affects and clear out her house. The family had spent the better part of the last three days sorting and cleaning, now all that remained was the attic crawl space.

It was amazing how much someone can collect in a life time, he thought. A final check with a flashlight revealed they had indeed reached the end of her collections. The attic was empty.

Turning to descend the rickety folding ladder, he noticed a small sparkle in the flashlights beam on one of the rafters behind the hatch. The light had caught the reflection of a small, silver jewelry box, tucked away in the crook of the rafters. If it hadn't been for the light he would have missed it entirely.

The box was ornate, a single clasp with no lock held it closed. The inside was lined with red velvet, and on it lay a single key, looking as if it belonged to a thirteenth century pirate. A tag tied to its end, showcased a logo of a ship with a keyhole on one side, the number "15" on the reverse. Nothing else to determine what its match might be.

This was a curiosity indeed he thought, while he brought his treasure to the rest of the family. Asking if anyone had seen or heard of this key proved a pointless effort. Not a one of us could recall it, or the box, and with grandpa already past, the options were limited.

Everyone decided it was alright for him to keep the key, and perhaps unravel the double life of his grandmother, they joked. The trail stalled for now, he set the key aside and finished packing the last of his grandmothers things.

Another week had past, before he remembered the curious object and its unnamed tag. Thinking the logo had to match something, he snapped a photo and uploaded it for a quick reverse image search - Surprising success.

The ship with a key hole was indeed a logo, belonging to “Point's Marina and Storage”, a small, local storage facility on the western docks.

The thrill of the hunt was on.

Something so simple now felt as if he was part of a grand treasure hunt, orchestrated through his grandmother and this key was the secret to it all.

He had no idea why his grandmother would need a hidden storage locker, but he intended to find out.

The drive from his home took nearly an hour.

The storage facility was well worn with years, and weathered from the salt air. It seemed a perfect match for the equally weathered, tall, but hunching old man standing at the counter.

“Hi, I'm looking for unit number fifteen. Can you help?”

"Aye", the old man responded giving the young man an inspecting glance up then down, before continuing.

“Head right through the gate, straight down till it stops. Third unit on the left.”, he said, raising a disheveled finger in an attempt to point the way.

“Thanks”, he replied, as he made his way out of the office and away from the shriveled man.

Third unit on the left, he repeated in his head like a mantra while he made his way through rows of steel doored storage units. The man's directions rang true, and he found himself face to face with a door, emblazoned with the number "15". He knew this was the right place even before attempting the key.

The lock was a heavy, brass, beast of a thing. Looking to have been made two hundred years ago for a pirate to bury his treasure. He could think of no better lock as a pair to his grandmother's interesting key.

He felt his pulse begin to race, as he slide the antique key into the ancient lock. The match couldn't have been a better fit. A twist. A distinct ‘click’. Smoother than expected, the lock released and the key's role had been fulfilled.

Simple as this should be, he found himself forgetting to breath, hand grasped on the large door.

His imagination running away with itself. Thoughts of piled gold and secret treasures flooded his mind. Wait, what if it was worse? Butcher boards and questionable coolers now clawed through.

He had to know , was the all encompassing thought coursing through his brain.

The door swung inwards as he pushed, and he was greeted with darkness. Fumbling around a moment revealed a light switch on the wall, a flick, and light washed over the interior.

The reality of the room fell far short of his wild expectations. The room was small, maybe six by six feet. Only a desk and a chair filled space.

On the desk lay an unassuming black notebook. Its cover worn through obvious age, yet still maintaining its structure well. The spine deeply creased through abundant use. A frayed elastic band bound the book closed.

Attempting to remove the band proved the final nail in it's coffin, giving way with a snap and a stinging sensation in his hand.

Inside the front cover was wedged a post card, written a very long time ago by the look of it. The front, a sun bleached picture of Edinburgh Castle, on its reverse, a message scribbled in faded red ink.

“Scotland is AMAZING!!

The people, Amazing.

The landscapes, Amazing.

The accents, Horrendous!

I wish you were here.

You have to come visit me when you get a chance. Promise me.

Your friend, Claudia.”

Claudia must have been an old friend of his grandmothers. He never knew she had friends in Scotland, he noted to himself.

Behind the postcard, on the first page of this little black notebook, was a list. A meticulously written list, accompanied by a small box drawn in at the end of every line. The page was titled, ‘Places to Go & Things to See Before I Die’. Grandma's bucket list, he thought.

The first line started about as you would expect.

‘Go for a road trip, by myself’, a large check filled that box.

‘See the northern lights’, check.

‘Drive across Canada’, check.

‘Drive through the US of A’, another check.

He stared in disbelief while he compiled his memories. Try as he might he couldn't think of one memory where his grandma had ever mentioned her trips.

"Had he ever asked", was the only question that would come to mind.

The list continued, filling the page as he turned to the next, and the next. The subjects becoming more worldly as the writing itself seemed to reflect her passing years.

‘Have a kiss at midnight on a bridge in Paris’, who knew she was such a romantic.

'Scuba dive the Caribbean', ‘sand surf the dunes of the Sahara ’, ‘sail across the Atlantic’.

It stunned him just how grand this seemingly simple woman's aspirations truly were.

Yet drove a nail through his heart, to see just how many boxes remained unchecked.

The next few pages remained blank, until eventually he came across the answer he was looking for.

Tucked away in the pages, was a picture of his grandmother, holding a precious baby girl, that would grow into his mother.

What followed was yet another page of hand written goals. However this list, while identical in set up, proudly showcased the title, "Things I want to do with my Family"

‘Have a daughter’, check.

‘Fall asleep in each other's arms’, check.

‘Kiss a booboo’, ‘mend a broken heart’. Check after check streamed down the list as tears welled in his eyes.

‘Attend my daughters wedding’, check.

‘Greet my first grandchild’, check.

‘Be reminded how cute they are when they're young’, check.

‘confirm I still love my husband after fifty years’, check.

Page after page he flipped, filled with unrelenting checks. Until the list came to its end, and there he came across a page dated a week before she moved to the hospital the final time.

“To the darling who finds this book. I must be gone from this world now. Know that I lived a life not a star in the sky could hope to touch. I may have left some things unfinished, but what else can I leave for the future, if not a little ambition.

I hope my dreams motivate you to fill these blank pages with a story of your own. May you find the adventures I could not, and I pray you find even a sliver of the happiness I have felt.

Take this gift and go find The Inspiration.”

The remaining half of the book was indeed blank, this had been the final entry.

Overwhelmed he read her writings again, and again, until the sun faded behind the horizon. Never had he felt so close to his grandmother.

Her hopes and dreams scrawled onto the pages he held in his hand. This woman he had only though of as his loving grandma, had taken shape into an ambitious, daring person he tragically wished to have known better before the end.

Wiping the remnants of tears from his face, he slid the book into his coat. Perhaps he should make copies for the rest of the family.

Looking around the rest of the room seemed a fruitless venture as nothing else could possibly have fit in the small room besides the desk and chair.

The only place left unturned, was the lone drawer in the front of the desk. The drawer slid smooth and silently for the antique.

Peering inside stirred feelings of Deja vu, as he was met once more with red velvet and a single key, until he noticed a brown envelope pushed to the back.

The key, a more modern, double sided key. A small tag hung from its end. The familiar ship logo on one side, a "15B" on the reverse.

A storage within a storage?, he questioned. Another look around the room showed no signs of any such key hole, and he decided the best course was to talk to the rickety man at the front desk.

Turning back to the envelope, he fished out the package from the surprisingly deep drawer. The seal was long since broken on the wrinkled, old envelope, but his heart skipped a beat as he lifted the flap.

Money. More money than he had ever held in his life, filled this seemingly small envelope. It had to be at least twenty thousand, he thought, speechlessly fluttering through the bills.

Was this the "gift" his grandmother's message had talked about?

Possibilities flashed through his mind faster than a movie reels montage, but he decided then and there at least half had to go to the family. The rest though, he would use to fulfill his grandmother's final request, and strike a check through every box he could manage.

With shaking hands he placed the envelope securely into his pocket, before closing up the unit and returning to the front office.

“Excuse me, sir", he said almost nervously, while approaching the desk.

“Where would I find the 15B storage unit?”

“Ya won't.”, the man's curt reply drawing a puzzled look from the younger man's face.

“It's a boat slip.” he continued.

“Follow the dock near halfway, ya can't miss it.”

A word of thanks and he was off again. To the dock? Now grandma owned a boat? He laughed at the near absurdity of what he thought he knew of the woman.

The desk keep's word rang true once more. A white sign bearing the number ‘15B’, stood out against the dock posts.

There moored at the slip, was a large sailboat, in immaculate condition and at least fourty feet in length. Light from the dock illuminated the ship's stern enough to read the name, “The Inspiration”.