Challenge #1 - my offering

[AthenaRose]

The Garage Sale

I walk along the suburban street, quiet except for the occasional passing car, every garden looking trim and tidy in the afternoon sun. The houses are comfortable, reflections of their owners’ incomes. In every drive, one or perhaps two cars, clean and sparkling, ready to whisk the middle classes to their favourite places to waste time and money.

My own home is only a mile away as the sparrow flies, but a world away in every other sense.

The funeral has been and gone, the final will and testament read, decisions made. Now the house is empty of residents, but not of goods and chattels. Nothing remains but to advertise the sale. There is nothing much of value – it’s just a case of getting what they can for it all before the house is sold.

There is sadness, of course. Rooms filled with old memories and dust bunnies. But still, it’s time to move on, to leave the past behind. It’s what they would have wanted, isn’t it? We have our own lives, now.

When was the last time we were together? Christmas? Yes, but not the last one or the one before. Not since Mum… We agreed to take it in turns to drop in on the old man. And what now? Well, we’re going to the Caribbean this winter…

Pure speculation on my part, all these rambling thoughts about them. I knew him, not them. But he talked about them often, their lives from birth onwards. Did they ever know how much attention he paid to their first smile, first school report, first heartbreak?

I take a deep breath of the warm, summer air, scented with his roses and honeysuckle. The house looks just the same without his presence as it did with it. I am shocked by that as if the building is somehow being disloyal by not descending into grief. There is one difference; last time I visited the lawn was not laden down with his furniture.

I read about his death in the local paper, just a few brief lines giving the barest details; date of birth, date of death, date of funeral. I toyed with the idea of attending, introducing myself; ‘Hello. I knew your father…’ But they would want to know how, when, why he’d never mentioned me, questions I have no way of answering simply. And his funeral would not have been the place for full explanations.

In the end, I stayed at home, remembering him in my own way. I considered visiting his grave, but it is next to his wife’s and I have no reason to visit her. So, whenever I think of him, I just hold his picture, the only one of himself that he liked. He is young and handsome in his uniform, standing to attention.

Twenty boys from the factory signed up on the same day. He was the only one who came home.

I wander amongst the various items laid out on the neatly clipped lawn. He always took such pride in his garden spending hours out here. Sometimes he did nothing but talk to the plants, encouraging them to grow strong and well. I hope I am not the only person who knew him who knows that.

Scanning the lawn now, I take in a brief inventory of what is out here. Tables, chairs, lamps, nick-knacks; the detritus of a life piled up any old how. Is this what we amount to, in the end? Just a collection of random objects that have nothing else in common except that we owned them?

Here is his elegant bedroom suite, polished wood gleaming in the sunshine; over there, his favourite chair, padded arms a little worn; beyond that, a bookcase filled with over a century of literature, dozens of worlds from the imaginations of the best writers, the easiest means of escape from a life that was not quite what he had wanted it to be.

The most valuable items are outside the house, but they are only a fraction of the whole. The rest must still be inside for those with the time and patience to rummage properly. I watch a young couple, students by the look of them, disappear inside. I decide I cannot face his rooms without his presence.

The flyers appeared a couple of weeks ago, in local shop windows and stuck on to lamp posts, advertising a house clearance. I knew the address as well as my own, felt a pang as deep as if it were my possessions that were being sold off. I tried to stay away from this, too, but somehow my feet brought me here of their own accord.

Merging with the other potential buyers, I drift through the spaces between items, stopping here and there when something catches my eye. The presence of some things – a shoebox full of home-made cards, a sampler, a hand-knitted scarf – surprise me. Surely, these mean more than the few pence they are being sold for? They meant more to him.

I glance over to the sellers, the brother and sister in their early forties. There are streaks of grey in their hair, but otherwise there is little sign of their age. They are very alike, and very like him. They are laughing over a cheap souvenir one of the buyers has brought over to them. It brings back memories of a holiday by the sea, dad falling into the water trying to catch a fish from a rowing boat, sandwiches filled with sand, half-melted ice-creams.

Smiling a little, I hide it behind my hand. No good in letting them see it. They would never understand.

I envy them such memories, though, because they are something I will never have. Perhaps they would envy the memories that I have that they do not share. Perhaps.



To them, I am just another passer-by who has stopped to search for something of interest that costs the few pounds in my pocket. Maybe I was attracted by the dining table with its eight chairs, or the assortment of collectable glassware. Or maybe I am someone who has passed by this house every day of my life and am just intrigued by the chance to finally look inside.

They cannot know that I have already explored every room.

Now and again, I have fantasised about meeting them. ‘Hello, my name is Robert. I’m your father’s… Your father was my…’ What words would begin to explain things to them? After all, there was no mention of me in the will. Why should they even believe what I tell them?

And do I have the right to tell them that their mother was not the only person in their father’s life? Not the only person who he held close. Hell, it took long enough for me to get my head around the fact that he had a family, that there were people in his life that he had a duty to.

I am not looking where I am going and almost trip over a wooden box decorated with colourful marquetry, a picture of a sailing ship on a choppy sea. I know it well because it was my gift to him on his last birthday. If it raised any curiosity in them I will never know. Whether it did or not, they have simply placed it out here with the other choice possessions of his that will fetch a little more.

A light breeze ruffles the little grass that is exposed. I think of the day we flew the kite in the park, both of us desperate to have ‘fun’, to capture something we had never had. And we realised that we never would have it. Our pasts were separate up until the moment when we met and there was no way to make them anything else.

It occurs to me that my relationship to them – unknown and unsuspected though it is – would be the way to introduce myself. Another buyer is talking to them, handing over a photograph album that was hiding at the back of a drawer. I recognise the binding; it contains their baby pictures. They exclaim over it, thought it had been inadvertently thrown away, thank they other person.

My baby pictures are all solitary. There is no sibling to share them with. Somehow, I know that two is enough for them, that a third would be an impossibility, an unwelcome intrusion.

In the end, I decide that it is better to walk away, to leave them to themselves. They are still without the knowledge that they have another brother, almost young enough to be their own son. I am glad that I had a chance to know our father, just a little. He had no part in my upbringing but I do not blame him for that. When he did learn of my existence, he did all he could.

We spent as much time as we could together, remembered my mother together, the only thing we truly shared.

It was more than enough.

[Steven Forbes]

Just so that everyone knows that I'm reading them, I'm going to make a quick reply in every thread. Think of it as a stamp.

I'll not be doing any c&c's because I'm to be the final judge in case of a tie, and I want everyone to have a fair shot.

Again, I won't be writing a story, either.

So, this one has been read.

Thanks for participating.

-Steven

[AthenaRose]

Thanks for taking the time, Forby!

[Jon Dahl]

I read it too. It reminded me of when my father passed away and my step-mother moved to another city.
I ended up with most of his possessions, I couldn't to bare part with even the smallest knick-knack.

It's an odd feeling having your father move back in with you three years after he passed away.

[AthenaRose]

Glad it 'spoke' to you, Jon.

[Ray Dillon]

The language of that story flowed very well, as did the plot. It was all a little creepy, being left in the dark, but then the reveal at the end was poignant creepy, but also sweet. I enjoyed it quite a bit. Well done!

[AthenaRose]

Hmm... I was going for 'intriguing' rather than 'creepy', but I'll just focus on

Originally Posted by Ray Dillon

I enjoyed it. Well done!

[Steven Forbes]

Heh.

-Steven

[paul brian deberry]

excellent read.

[AthenaRose]

Why thank you, sir

[Ray Dillon]

Originally Posted by AthenaRose

Hmm... I was going for 'intriguing' rather than 'creepy', but I'll just focus on

Hey, that's a perfect example of how a reader will put his/herself into a writer's story. It's gloomy weather here, heading towards Halloween time, so I'm in a very macabre mind-state. Now, if it were sunny and cheery around here, I might have had a completely different experience. It all came together in the end, however. And I really did enjoy it.

[mrwewiii]

Wow Athena. Now I have to go pull mine back down. Why'ed ya have to go and be all 'deep' and stuff.

(love it! well done)

[AthenaRose]

*blushes* You're too kind.

[wisper]

good read...years after my ex/mother in law passed an unknown daughter apeared looking for her mother..the unknown daughter was in her 50's...it was a shock to the family to say the least.

[Toyandgadgetguy]

Enjoyable, indeed. Left just enough room for the imagination to work. Love the reveal at the end.