137 lines
7.2 KiB
Plaintext
137 lines
7.2 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #836
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "The Attic"
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
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888 888 888 888 888 " by Rhea
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 9/20/99
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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"Listen to me, James, listen," rasped Grandmother, tugging on her
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grandson's hand impatiently. She pulled him closer to whisper something in
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his ear, and her eyes looked into his urgently.
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James leaned in towards her. He hoped she would relax her desperate
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cling on his hand soon; her brittle yellow fingernails were pressing
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uncomfortably into his skin.
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He gave her a little nod to show he was listening, and Grandmother
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opened her mouth to speak. But suddenly she erupted into a fit of harsh
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coughs, making James stiffen at the cold drops of saliva which sprayed on
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his neck. His nose wrinkled in slight disgust before he could repress the
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reflex. When she finished coughing, he hurriedly wiped the spit away with
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his sleeve as discreetly as he could.
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"Sorry," Grandmother whispered hoarsely, and her lips wrinkled in a
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lazy, apologetic smile. James tried to smile back. He thought he
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succeeded, but he wasn't sure.
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"I know I shouldn't tell, but I have to. I have to let my conscience
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rest in peace. I need to tell you," she told him earnestly. He nodded
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gravely, and wondered: would she finally admit that she thought his hair too
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long? He didn't take the drama of her words seriously at all, even though
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she lay heavily on the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed and even
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though each breath of hers was heavier and heavier.
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"James, my grandson, my dearest. You're so smart, you could sell a
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million televisions without any trouble. And you will. It eases my heart
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to know that you will never be without struggles in your life," said
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Grandmother to him, pulling his hand that she gripped onto tightly and
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placing it on her sullen breast with an affectionate pat. James was
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suddenly conscious of the strong contrast in color between his hand and the
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grayish sickly tone of her hospital gown. He wanted to pull his hand away.
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"What do you have to tell me, Grandmother?" he asked gently.
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"It's very important," said his Grandmother, and her face became
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suddenly more serious than he had ever seen it. Her eyes stared sharply
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into his with a surprisingly fierce intelligence he had never noticed in her
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before. "It's about your childhood. You see, James, in the attic
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there's--"
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Her eyes widened with a start and she began coughing violently again,
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gasping while she coughed, "In that attic you'll see a--"
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Then she stopped coughing abruptly with one sharp intake of breath,
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and her head fell back limply onto the white hospital pillow. The pillow
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didn't look soft at all, James thought. It must be uncomfortable.
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She was silent, and her grip on his hand, which had tightened
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dramatically during her coughing, slowly relaxed. James` eyebrows collapsed
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heavily into a frown, and he pulled his hand away slowly. Grandmother's
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eyelids were closed, sunken into the folds of wrinkled skin that made up her
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expressionless face. James stood up from the chair beside her bed and
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walked out.
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When he got home, his mother was sitting at the kitchen table with
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her hands massaging her forehead.
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"Mom," he asked, "What's in the attic?"
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She looked up at him sharply, as if she had been so absorbed in her
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thoughts that she was surprised he existed. "Nothing, really," she replied.
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"Just old things we never got around to throwing away. Why?"
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James shook his head. "Just wondering," he said slowly. He was
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going to tell her that Grandmother had mentioned it, then decided against
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it.
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His mother looked at him carefully. "You'll be all right, won't you,
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James?" she asked. "I mean, it must have been tough to have been there when
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she--"
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"I'll be fine," he cut in shortly. I'm always fine, he thought
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resentfully. He said to his mother, "I'll be in my room if you need me."
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He lied; he was going to the attic. But going there was in the
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direction of going to his room, so his mother never even guessed the truth
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when he left the kitchen and walked down the hallway. She went right back
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to staring at the grains of wood on the table and massaging her forehead.
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The attic door was at the end of the hallway, across from the linen
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closet. He remembered suddenly that in the linen closet was the small
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blanket Grandmother had knitted for his 10th birthday. He hadn't touched it
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in years, but he knew it was there, and only a curiosity to see the attic
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kept him from opening the linen closet and running his fingers over the
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blanket for a moment. He began opening the attic door. His arm felt heavy,
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and he found that turning the knob was very difficult with such a heavy arm.
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He didn't know why his arm was so heavy, but he didn't feel like fighting
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it. He let it fall limply to his side, and turned away from the unopened
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attic door. He imagined dusty boxes that would make him sneeze, and a dim
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light that would strain his eyes. He thought about how long it would take
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to look through all the boxes. He thought about how he had no idea what he
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was looking for.
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He thought about the blue blanket. He stepped towards the linen
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closet. He lifted his arm to open the closet door, and this time it wasn't
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so heavy. It was still a terrible task to turn the knob, but he managed it
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somehow. He pulled the cord on the ceiling to turn on the little light bulb
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in the closet. It didn't work. He looked up at the bulb; it had the milky
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look that burnt-out light bulbs have. He sighed, and opened the door wide
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to shine as much light from the hallway in there as possible.
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James rummaged around the shelves, looking for the blanket. He
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couldn't find it. It wasn't in the closet after all; it wasn't where he
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thought it had been. He felt suddenly very sad, and he blinked and saw in
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his mind again the way Grandmother's head had fallen back on the pillow so
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limply.
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James walked slowly back to the kitchen. "Mom," he said quietly when
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he got there, "where's that blue blanket, the one that Grandmother made me
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when I was little? It's not in the linen closet."
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His mother looked as if she were pulled away from a dream again, and
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stared at him blankly for a minute. Then she blinked and said, "Oh, I moved
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that thing months ago. It's in the attic."
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James nodded slowly. "Ok," he said dully, and walked back to his
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room. His feet were heavy, so he walked slowly; his head was heavy, so he
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let it hang down and stared at the gray carpet. He didn't even look at the
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attic door as he passed it. He didn't look at the linen closet, either. He
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just walked.
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #836 - WRITTEN BY: RHEA - 9/20/99 ]
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