The Suffering

Are they serious? They can’t honestly be serious. After everything the old bag put Ayla and I through, she still had literally no one else to even come clean up her stupid house. Why did she collect so many different things? Cows. Elephants. Hummingbirds. Spoons. Wolves. Figurines, wall art and of course some more figurines – most of which are made from something extremely breakable. The spoons might have some value; the collection is huge and some of the spoons are quite old. Do people still collect things? I can’t remember the last time I can think of anyone with collections of things. I guess all things are part of a collection of sorts – all your stuff is stuff you’ve collected and accumulated along your life. So, what causes someone to then micro-collect so many different things?? Who is going to want to buy 300 porcelain, glass and ceramic animals that literally have nothing in common with each-other?

I can’t help but roll my eyes at the strangeness that was Gran Catherine. She was a tiny, horrible person who was forced into being a second time parent to Ayla and I after our parents died over 10 years ago. Speaking of deeply flawed people, its truly a miracle that Ayla and I made it out of there alive – if not the sanest of the whole group. Well, maybe sane is a little bit of a stretch, I chuckle at the thought. I suppose I did inherit the hoarding gene after all. But with crystals and herbs and knowledge beyond anything their minds were ever capable of comprehending. The absolute waste of energy they all were, just wasting and withering away, collecting useless and valueless junk – all of which we now have to deal with since Gran’s passing.

Ayla was never late, where was she? My sister was annoyingly on time for everything, a trait she shared with our father. The two of them always waiting for mother and me – we were always rushed and frantic, no matter how much planning and time we gave ourselves. It was kind of embarrassing really – seeing how nice it must be to be so calm, cool, and collected all the time. Sighing, I check the time and I suppose she isn’t that late, I just want to get this over with, maybe break a few figurines accidentally on purpose. I’d rather smash things and sweep it up than to lug it all over the continent hoping someone sees value in an batty old woman’s eccentric and eclectic taste in décor. I laugh out loud at that thought, trying to remember who Gran was before the responsibility became too much. She wasn’t always horrible I don’t think, mother and Gran never got along though, so maybe she was. I will never forgive her selfishness of taking the regret of all her past bad decisions and pinning them on her only surviving family and heirs. Damnit. Where was Ayla?

I look out the back kitchen window, the one that has a view of the lake and forests as well as the main road. The sheer volume of time I had spent in my life looking out this window daydreaming, watching the hummingbirds, even that one time a bear charged out of the trees on the property. Everyone was so afraid and thought the llamas and horse were going to get eaten. I knew better. Llamas are violent, I wouldn’t mess with them even if I were a bear and turns out I was right. The bear did charge them but all 3 of the llamas, including the pack leader, turned and saw the bear. I swear I could almost see them smile before they all charged towards the bear. It was kind of funny seeing a grown bear stop dead in his tracks and retreat back into the trees. Smiling at the memory, I look back over the fields, now empty and overgrown, no signs of wildlife.

Sighing again, I turn around to face the ridiculous black and white kitchen. The walls, floors, cupboards, counters – everything was black AND white. This was also where the ridiculous cow collection lived. Rolling my eyes about the thought of dealing with this room, I walk through the French style doors to the left of me into the formal living room. Glancing at the stupid extensive spoon collection in their custom wooden display racks suspended on the rough brick wall – a generous description of what I’m certain was jagged lava rock. Some of the spoons were gleaming from the sunlight peaking through the skylight. Whatever, I’m pretty sure they’re Ayla’s problem now anyways.

The dark hardwood creaks as I make my way into this strange room that never seemed to have a purpose. Every step in here had your heart in your throat. I don’t know if it was the floor to ceiling windows on two full walls or all the delicate and breakable things in here. No matter how soft your steps were, glass rattled everywhere. The only time this room was used was when someone was upset and needed to hide – no one ever looked in here. This was where all the elephants and hummingbirds lived. I just wanted to kick them. HA! I still have my shoes on! Gran would lose her mind if she knew. This weird room was always an enigma of temperature. How can it be both cold and hot at the same time – no matter the time of year, no matter the clothes you’re wearing. To continue to add to the strange garishness of this confusing room, the furniture. This furniture is so bad that its almost hard to look at; shiny teal brocade with pink and peach flowers on a full sofa, loveseat, chair and ottoman. Oh, and the smell – the whole room smelled like hot dust and time. Perhaps this is the scent of nostalgia - the wood burning stove adding a hint of smoke while sitting stoic in the stillness at the head of the room. Shaking my head, I walk past the stove, giving it a gentle touch as if it can feel me and know it is seen, already knowing this room is going to be a pain to deal with.

As I leave the room, I turn to walk past the spoon wall. Packing these will be so easy – they wont break, and they would all fit into a small box. Lucky Ayla, just one of the elephants I inherited is the same size as the entire spoon collection. I run my hands over the dark, lava rock brick wall of the centre of the house, the chimney and the stairwell and wonder why anyone would want this sharp, dark and dangerous wall in their house? Turning with the concave shape of the wall, I get to the steep, slippery spiral staircase to the basement and the formal entryway. Even with the skylight, this area was always dark. The dark hardwood floor, the dark bricks, the exposed beams in the roof painted black, the emerald carpet on the stairs and the dark wooden oversized front door that had the creepiest lion knocker and cast-iron hardware. I hated that door, almost like something sinister was waiting for us, watching, waiting; not just the chokecherry tree in the front yard that was the home to a family of racoons.

I turn back to the stairs and wonder how in the hell none of us fell down these to our death. The scratchy brick wall on the left, the plush slippery carpeted 6” wide stairs underfoot and the smooth wooden banister on the right were not well thought out ideas for a staircase. Gripping the dark wooden bannister and placing a hand lightly on the brick, hoping I didn’t just jinx myself to meet my end this time. At the bottom, the temperature difference is drastic, it is like an ice box and I didn’t bring a sweater. I wish I knew if the wood stoves still worked, there was one down here as well and plenty of chopped firewood outside. Hurry up Ay!

This cataloging tour of mine is coming to an end – the wolves and Inuit memorabilia from Gran’s day’s spent way further north. At least these prints and artworks are gorgeous and very well done, they should sell quick. I like that they have built in display lights like they are actually in a gallery. Old people buy and display the weirdest shit. Why is this hideous carpet still this plush after all this time? It feels like the softest forest moss, only tinted dark emerald green, which is a gorgeous color, but to apply it as carpet was not a good design decision. That being said, this was probably my favourite room in this giant house. The strange decorating, the rough wooden paneling that only covered half the wall, the huge windows, Oh! And the wolf rug. I don’t think we ever named him, but we sure did love him. All the hair was rubbed off his snout and his tongue hadn’t been glued in in years. I lay down on his back, his head as my pillow and smell the smoky leathery scent that he’s always smelled like. Stretching my arms and legs out with his, feeling his smooth claws at the ends of his front legs, I still had no idea why this silly wolf rug was where I felt the safest, coziest and like I could go, do, and see anything on his back, he would take me through the cosmos.

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“Chloe! What the… what are you doing??”

I blink my eyes open despite the sandpaper feel of my eyelids, startled awake by Ayla’s squeaky shrill screeching.

“Ugh,” I moan, “what, when did you get here?”

“Like 5 minutes ago. Why are your shoes on? Why are you sleeping on that wolf like you always did when we were kids? Gran would have your hide as a rug if she knew you were traipsing through the house with your shoes on!”

“Jesus, Ayla. She’s dead. What is she going to do, haunt me?” I reply sarcastically as I roll my eyes in jest.

“Stop it Chlo, you know she will.” Ayla laughed as she bounced back up the stairs to the kitchen, chattering on about who knows what, as I grunt and groan to get off my nap bed and stumble up the treacherous stairs after her. How is she so cheerful all the time? Sometimes I think she came straight to me from the summer sun, with her golden hair and ever sunny disposition. I probably crawled out of some cave or bog with how much light I feel in a day. She pretty much glows, even though she denies it. I am determined that I will catch her being dressed in the mornings by birds and squirrels one day.

Back upstairs in the hideous kitchen, Ayla is looking out the window I was at earlier.

“Remember that one time that bear got scared away by the crazy llamas?” she asked, not turning around.

I laughed. “Vividly.”

“We’ve had such strange life, haven’t we?” her eyes still scanning the landscape.

“We really have, but without it we wouldn’t be the people we are today. “Is everything ok?” I ask, already knowing that something is bothering her.

“Just being back here, my memories are so scattered, I feel like I forget most of it and I don’t like that.” She said sadly as she turned to face me, her ice blue eyes now dark and stormy.

“Well, if there’s anything specific you want to know, I’ll probably remember it.” I shrug. “Where should we start in this ridiculous place?” I ask, hoping to change the subject, and lighten the mood.

Ayla sighs, looks back out the window, the storm clouds in her eyes still rolling. She pauses for a minute, takes a deep breath and the clouds start to lift. “Which room is the worst?” she asks. We both look towards those silly French doors and the formal living room and cringe. Looking at each other we laugh, throw our heads back in despair and make our way into the daunting and absurd formal living room.