Secrets of the Chest

Shawna struggled to move her old Bombay chest up the walkway to her new home. It became almost comical to watch this tiny woman support the weight of this colossus dresser, pivoting the back legs forward inch by inch. She momentarily regretted investing in a property set so far back from the street and further back from its own driveway. But she persisted. Once safely behind closed doors, Shawna slowly collapsed down the chest. As she slid over its voluptuous curves, her fingers absentmindedly tracked what was left of the golden, vine-like inlay. They wrapped around the body, coddling the drawers in a natural embrace, falling over what was once a shimmering black lacquer. Though age had tarnished the finish, glimpses of elegance still peeked through.

She rattled open the bottom drawer that kept her precious secret since she was a teenager. It never fully opened but the gap was just large enough to conceal a full flask and a fat cigar.

As the whiskey left that all too familiar burn, Shawna sighed in contented disbelief that once again, she hauled this cumbersome piece of furniture with her. It became such a well- known burden among her friends that they stopped offering their help years ago. Yet regardless of the countless broken toes, jammed fingers, and primal screams of frustration, Shawna would always move this timeless classic. Her reasoning stemmed from the inception of the chest; a story she reveled in telling anyone who would listen.

Back in the late 1800’s, Shawna’s great grandmother, only ever known to her as “El”, had discovered a controversial aptitude for woodworking. Her father, much more progressive than most men of that era, converted part of their home into a workshop for her. Knowing that earning a legal income in this fashion was impossible, her great grandmother sought out underground buyers for her ornate furniture. The most lucrative of which was a local brothel. The décor and the Madam were equally regal, giving the usual stigma associated with such a place, no place at all. El was quickly drawn in. Much like the women who offered their company here, her certain skills were undervalued by most of the world. Neither would concede to the likes of the masses. There’s a certain strength in using the body to manipulate others and make a living. Every playful look, another dinner, sensuous curves yield plump savings, and a well-placed moan could guarantee a future.

Some time after El’s discovery of these remarkable image she contracted a mysterious illness she was unable to overcome. The Madam sought out her father and gifted the last piece she had carved- the Bombay chest.

Warmed with whiskey and happy thoughts, Shawna collected herself to continue moving the chest. But as she went to close her drawer of secrets, something gleamed behind the drawer on the very bottom of the chest. Curiously, she rattled and tugged until the drawer flew across the room and revealed a false bottom. Shawna carefully lifted the hatch to discover a small black notebook and what would amount to $20,000. Dumbstruck, she sat and read the one entry the book contained:

"My dearest Liana,

Words could not possibly do my gratitude justice. Even the thought of this world having anything within the realm of this graciousness I feel would be an insult. You have given me life. You have unlocked passions I thought were merely fabricated tales, determined to bestow hope on the hopeless but never come to fruition. I never fathomed leading a life such as this but you made such a possibility my beautiful reality. I understand my condition, but I do not regret the choices that led me here. My wish is that you find our earnings, tucked away from prying eyes and greedy hands, and continue your devotions.

All my love,

El"