Well Done

My mother didn’t have much worth saving. Now that the funeral was over and everyone has gone back to their lives without her in it, I felt like starting the dreadful task of getting rid of her things. Maybe it was to stay in my pool of depression a little while longer, or maybe it was to start climbing out of it. This would probably be a lot less painful if I had siblings, or a father, but I didn’t.

Her closet was easy. Most of her clothes were from Good Will or the Salvation Army and they had served their time. Three lawn trash bags took care of them. Her kitchen stuff was dated and she still used things that I remember as a child. I kept the blue ice cream scooper, covered in scratches and dented, and a white glass vegetable dish with flowers painted on it. I’m not usually sentimental, but things like these were as effective as photographs in harnessing memories, and pulling them right up to the surface, maybe even more so.

I also came across a bottle of wine in the kitchen and poured a glass before moving on to her nightstand. Mom’s nightstand was a repository of everything that didn’t have a specific place, items that ranged from note cards to my drawings from first grade. All three drawers were filled to the top and it occurred to me I might need more wine.

***

Bright spears of light stabbed my throbbing head. I opened my eyes as little as possible, enough to see that I was in my mother’s bed, on top of the covers and if I moved much more, I would be sick. The empty drawers of the nightstand were all open. On the floor next to me were piles of photographs, drawings, note cards and address books. The biggest pile was either miscellaneous things or I passed out before I got to it.

I found some Alka Seltzer in her medicine cabinet which tamed my hangover enough for me to get home to my apartment, where I collapsed onto my bed and slept well into the afternoon. Mom’s apartment would need to wait another day.

Armed with storage containers, a quart of green tea and a small can of Red Bull, I was back in the circle of piles from the nightstand, like some ancient medicine wheel of junk. Little memory shreds from the other night peppered my mind as I looked around at the collection of chaos. I noticed there were two empty wine bottles sitting atop the nightstand, which certainly explained the gaps in my memory.

It only took another half hour to sort the remaining things. There were five piles; photographs, my childhood artwork, blank note cards, address books and trash. I placed the photographs and artwork into one of my storage tubs and moved the note cards to the trash pile. That left the address books. There were three in all; one covered in flowery fabric with lace edging, one with a fat cartoon cat on the front and one that was just a small black leather book. I remember the first two, but I don’t ever remember seeing this black one. I picked it up and moved on to the bed where I would be comfy.

I opened the cover and saw that it wasn’t an address book at all. It was a journal. In my mother’s beautiful, albeit a bit shaky penmanship it read:

My Dearest Anastasia,

Oh, my dear girl, where do I begin? I’m sorry I have left you all alone. I do hope that my affairs are not too burdensome for you to finalize. All those times I tried to have this conversation with you about my inevitable demise and where you would find everything that would be useful. You would have none of it, “Please mom, I don’t want to think about it” you would say. Now, here we are; you at the mercy of my clever approach to things. Don’t get me wrong, you know how much I love a good mysterious scavenger hunt, it’s just that there is no answer key and a great deal at risk if you are not successful. There is a small safe under the kitchen sink, behind the cleaners. We both know I never had to worry about you going in there, lol. The code is 1932. All boring official business stuff is there, bank accounts, taxes, and so on. There is also a plain envelope, this is for you. Good luck my sweet.

Love Always,

Mom

The next two pages of the journal were torn out, and then no more entries. I had to laugh; this was so typical of her. We both knew her heart was failing. She hit things head on, focused on the facts. That wasn’t so easy for me. I wallowed in the fear of being alone. She taught me so much, but she never taught me how to live without her.

Shaking my head and cursing her creative brilliance, I headed to the kitchen to retrieve the safe. The door on the small, heavy device popped open when I pressed the final digit of the code. As promised, there on top was a plain white envelope, containing another page from the black journal, torn edge and all. She was an eloquent writer and so loved to pen letters. I imagine she relished in this little project of hers for weeks. And if nothing else, the revelation of her brilliant plan would give her one thing to look forward to in death.

Anastasia,

Well done, you got this far. You will need to come back to the official documents at some point, but I know you went right for this letter, and I don’t blame you one bit! Right to the good stuff, yes? I have a parting gift for you and I’m so excited for you to find it! You were always so intelligent; you just didn’t put the effort forth. Now is not the time to belabor that, but I will leverage my position to force you to use that beautiful mind of yours.

When you were little, I used to take you to the park where the creek ran through. Do you remember? In fact, there is a picture of you standing on a big flat rock in the middle. You couldn’t have been more than five, you were so proud of yourself for making it there! That picture is on the mantle, and it’s your next clue.

Kisses…

Mom

I blew the layer of dust off the cheap glass frame. A little girl stood with her arms spread wide, like a world-renowned performer at the end of the show. I loved that bright pink shirt. I bit my lip to hold back the tears. I took the picture out of the frame and put it in my purse, along with the letter.

To this day, I knew exactly how to get to that rock. With longer legs and better balance, it was much easier to hop to now. I knelt down and inspected it closely, having no idea what I was looking for. Writing? A symbol? I ran my hand down the sides and all around, reaching to the creek bed six or seven inches down. Nothing. What if the clue washed away? What if someone took it? There was nothing here. I stood up with a sigh. I turned around, closed my eyes and held my arms out, just as I had in that old photo. I tilted my chin up and drank in the sun’s warmth. When I opened my eyes, I looked at the old oak across the creek. There was a naturally formed cavern in the bottom and for a second, I saw a glimmer from within it. I instinctively looked around and then trotted across the creek and over to the base of the tree. I reached my hand in just below where someone with the initial K declared their love for J in 1976. It was damp and cool as I patted my hand around inside, praying that nothing crawled over it or bit it, I felt something small and hard. I grabbed in and pulled my hand out. It was a key. A small key with a metal tag on it, stamped with the number 118. It wasn’t a door key, it looked more like a safe key.

Twenty minutes later, I was at the bank where my mother had her accounts. A perky little thing in her twenties bounced up to me and asked what she could help me with. “I’m not sure, can you tell me if this goes to a safety deposit box here?” I held the key up so she could see it.

“It sure looks like it, come on back with me and we’ll check it out.” The perky girl logged about a hundred keystrokes on her computer before speaking again. “Are you Anastasia?”

“I am”

“Well, if you have identification, we can go retrieve the box for you. Your mother has you authorized on the account.”

Inside the box was only a plain white envelope.

Once alone in my car, I opened the envelope. There were two items inside. One was another torn page from the journal which read:

Oh Anastasia!

I just knew you would see the tiny glimmer in all the background! Well done, Annie, well done! You always seemed to find the glimmer in things. I know my parting quote won’t surprise you, neither the content nor my shameless plagiarism:

“There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense.”

This will be my last letter; I am with you always.

Love,

Mom

The other item in the envelope was her library card.

***

My finger slipped down the weathered cloth spine. There was no glimmer left on the gold punched letters. I paused for a moment before pulling the old book off the cold metal shelf. A book that was our love language; the nights we took turns reading it, going to any playhouse to see it on stage and critiquing every movie version like the Pride and Prejudice experts that we were.

I gently flipped the pages and they opened to the page where Mr. Darcy finds Elizabeth Bennett in the field. The page didn't open there by some serendipitous force, but because there was small card there in the page. No, not a card, a lottery ticket. Already scratched, it’s secret already revealed…$20,000.00.

For the first time since she died, I let the tears flow unimpeded. Well done, Mother, well done.