My Grandma's Attic

When I was a little girl, I would visit my grandparents often. Going to my grandparents’ house was always an adventure for my sister and I.

The adventures with my grandpa mostly took place outside in his massive yard. He actually had three backyards, all surrounded by a wood, red painted fence. The first backyard was very small and didn’t have much to it, it extended about 10 feet from the back of the house to the next backyard by a line of hedges that were not always maintained.

The second backyard was four times the size and a lot wider than the first, apple trees lined the sides of the yard. There was a black widow infested shed off to the side. We would climb the trees and dare each other to go into that shed and see what was inside but we never made it far.

The third backyard was a massive garden and I hated going back there because I would watch my grandpa walk down the rows of plants and pick whatever my grandma needed to make dinner for that night. but every once in a while, when you thought he was bending down to get the vegetables, you would suddenly see him fling his arm out quickly and a snake go flying through the air. I would squeal like the little girl that I was and go running to my grandma.

There were so many more adventures with my grandpa, but our time seemed to always run short and before we knew it, it was time to go inside with grandma. Here, the adventures were a lot less dangerous than flying snakes and black widow infested sheds. My grandma loved to cook and spent most of her time in the kitchen. She would shuffle around her kitchen with mismatched slippers, making sure she had enough food to feed the whole neighborhood.

Although the kitchen is where she spent most of her time, our grandest adventures with her took place in her attic. My grandpa and dad called it the junk attic. My grandma was pretty much a closet hoarder and she saved everything from wrapping paper, to that brown paper that used come in shipped packages to keep your merchandise safe, there were also many glass figurines of pretty much every animal you could think of, trinket boxes, books, dolls, clothes, or random gifts she would collect from any company that was giving out free gifts, and everything in between it didn't matter how many times my sister and I would go up there, we always found something new. She never threw a single thing away.

When we were good, my grandma would let my sister and I go up there and go through her stuff to see what we could find. Every once in a while, if we found a treasure that we absolutely adored, she would let us take it home. We had to really be sneaky about it though because my dad would yell at us and say we didn't need any more junk and make us take it back.

We valued our treasures deeply and would spend our days fantasizing about a way to get the “forbidden” treasure.

The “Forbidden” treasure was a mysterious package wrapped in brown paper and held together with strings. The kind of package you didn’t see much of in the present day. It sat on a shelf that was built into the wall and had a thick layer of dust on top of it. It sat on this shelf all by itself in the midst of clutter, just begging to be opened.

That box plagued us. we wanted so bad to know what was inside and couldn't understand how my grandmother hadn't opened it how could she fight off her own curiosity and left it be.

She had told us the story of the box one night when we had slept over at her house. She said that our grandpa given her that box on their wedding night. He told her, “I know I can be hard to live with, and I know our life together won’t always be easy, but if you ever get to the point in our marriage where you can't stand me, absolutely hate me, you would do anything you could to just leave me and never look back, before you walk out that door, before you decide that I'm the most despicable man in the world, open this box.”

My sister and I had looked at each other in confusion. We knew our grandparents loved each other very much, but “love” was not a word we heard in their house. They argued, they fought, they had four kids together, they had been married over forty years, and there that box sat, covered in dust, on its own special shelf in the world’s coolest attic, untouched for years.

Depending on the day, the box was an unreachable golden treasure surrounded by thorny impassable brush that sliced the skin mercilessly. Next, it was the infamous Pandora's box, full of suspicion, mystery, darkness, and whatever ominous horror that our minds could come up with.

Looking back on it now, the magic in this room was palpable and had given us some of the best days of our lives.

We lost her a few years ago, my grandpa, just days ago. I had been tasked with cleaning out my grandma’s attic, a daunting task really, if you considered how much stuff she had collected over seventy years, but one I look forward to. One last adventure with my little sister in my grandma’s attic and it was going to be an epic one. Even as an adult, no matter how much I tried when I looked around this room, I could never see junk, as my grandpa and dad called it. What I saw was a collection of magic my grandma spent a lifetime collecting and was gracious enough to let us play with it, and the forbidden box still wrapped in brown paper held together with strings.

I fought back tears as I looked down at the letter I held in my hand. It was a letter my grandma had written to my sister and I before she died. All it said was, “you can open it now and I pray that you precious angels can find someone someday where no matter how much you hate them that day, that you can still find a reason not to open the box.” Love you always, grandma.

My heart raced as I waited for my sister to show up. Thirty years of built-up anticipation, thirty years of adventure, my patience had finally run out.

My feet started to bounce; my fingers drummed on my knee impatiently. It was just like my sister to be late on the one day I really needed her to be on time.

Another few minutes passed before I heard my sister come through the downstairs door. I could hear her running, then I saw her rush up to the steps. We looked at each other, look at the box.

“Are you ready” My sister asked reaching down and help me up.

I shook my head no but reached up and took her hand anyway.

We nervously made our way towards the box, stepping over boxes, trinkets, and wrapping paper on our way. Suddenly we were there, right in front of it, we looked at each other nervously, our hands still clasped together tightly. We just stared at it for the longest time, do we really want to destroy the mystery that had made our childhood? Did we really, truly, want to know what was inside that box?

My sister let go of my hand and gently removed the box from the shelf. I flinched a little as it came free, I had never seen it moved from that spot, and I was worried it was going to disintegrate due to age.

We sat down on the floor with the box placed between us. I reached over and gave the string a little tug, half expecting that it would just fall apart in my hands. My sister took over and slid a small pocketknife underneath the tape to slice through the it. We unfolded the brown paper together and laid it flat on the floor, we gasped when we saw what was underneath.

It was a very Normal looking box. There was nothing impressive about it. But on the inside of the brown paper, there was a note written in pencil. It had faded with time, but it was still legible. It read:

“Marion,

If you ever have any doubt how much I love you open this box. I wrote this on the paper instead of inside the box to give you one last chance to change your mind and realize you still loved me without having to open our box. Before you take that drastic step, remember the night I gave you this package and how much we loved each other. If that doesn’t stop you, what is in the box will remind you of the two people who fell in love instantly. What is in the box will remind you of who we were when we fell in love, and that once, we loved each other so much we took a vow to promise to do so forever. The box will remind you that no matter what life throws at us, those two people who fell in love all those years ago, still live inside us, and we can find them again. In doing that, we can find each other again. You are the love of my life.”

Sherm.

Tears rolled down my cheek as I was introduced to a side of my grandfather that I had never met. My sister was also crying softly. I held my breath as my eyes shifted and I looked down at the box and opened it gently. There were three items inside. On the top, there was a hanky with a capital S embroider in one corner. The significance of that was only known by my grandparents.

My sister reached for the next item. It was a folded-up theater program. My grandparents had met doing a play at the community theater.

I reached for the last item. It was a picture of my grandparents standing close together with big smiles on their faces, looking at each other so happily and so full promise. They were so young in the picture which had started to yellow with age I flipped the photo over and written on the back was, “today I met my sweetheart.”

I can feel the tears slide down my cheeks faster now as I looked at that picture. Two people who had met, fell in love, and stuck by each other through the good and the bad. It was such a rare thing to see anymore. My grandparent’s generation was a dying breed where people didn't give up on each other and fought for each other. Seventy years, and this box had never been opened. What a beautiful life lesson.

We gently place the three items back inside the box and placed it back on the shelf where it had sat since my grandparents bought this house. We didn't talk as we started packing up my grandma's attic and all the years of perfect memories. Words were not needed, the message my grandparents had given us was loud and clear, our childhood memories so close to the surface.

I stopped packing to take a sip from my water bottle and stuck my free hand in my back pocket. I felt my grandma's letter inside, pulled it out, and re-read it. She had hoped my sister and I would find someone like her someday. My eyes slid over to the now dust free box and I found myself wondering, how lucky would I be if I could find someone like her too.