Catching Up

It is a cool evening in September when I receive the phone call. There are still fresh leaves lying on the sidewalk as I make my way to my car. Kids’ laughter fills the silence as they play in the street. I watch for a moment with my hand on the door handle of my vehicle. I inhale the fall air. One of the girls looks up and smiles at me. I wave. She has straight blonde hair and a blue scrunchie holding the strands together in a ponytail. The bottom of her overalls drag on the ground as she chases the other kids.

The engine vibrates the steering wheel as I begin to navigate myself to my childhood home. Darkness has taken over completely as I pull into the driveway. I take my key out of the ignition and sit for a moment. The front door is propped open and people walk in and out freely. A few people gather on the far end of the porch from the door. I squint trying to make out their faces, but the darkness conceals their identities. My driver door creaks as I open it and the people on the porch take notice of my presence. I wrap my coat around myself as I make my way up the porch steps.

It falls silent as I cross the threshold. I look around for a familiar face. I see my Aunt as the kitchen door swings open. I can hear a few people in the living room begin to whisper to one another as I cross the space to the kitchen. Their eyes follow every step. I swallow feeling like an intruder in the home that holds every precious memory of my childhood. The more space that I cross, the more it feels like I am walking through the museum of someone else’s life.

My heels click on the tile floor of the small kitchen as I enter. My Aunt is facing the sink and cleaning her hands quite vigorously. I stand at the entrance holding my breath, unsure of what to say.

“Hi.” A soft voice that does not sound like my own says. I clear my throat and repeat my greeting. My Aunt turns around with her hands still under the water and her eyes become wide. “Baby Girl!” Her wet hands are suddenly grabbing my face as she kisses my cheek hard. I wait until she turns away to wipe my face with my sleeve. She still catches me. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She speaks, “I am so happy to see you.”

I stiffen as her arms embrace me. Her perfume overwhelms my nose and I sneeze. She lets me go and stares for a moment before saying “He’s in his room. I’m sure you know the way.” Her lips turn up slightly into a small sad smile, before looking away from me and motioning to the other door of the kitchen leading into the dining room.

I make my way past the dining table gliding my fingertips across the backs of the chairs as I do. The wood steps creak as I climb them. Halfway from the bottom I can hear the faint sounds of him coughing. One leg at a time. One step at a time. I make it to the second floor. I peer around the corner. The light from his room spills into the hallway. I pass my old room without looking in, not wanting to get sucked into the memories that reside within it.

When I enter his room, the scent of medicine mixed with sweat fills my nostrils. He lies motionless with a quilt resting on his chest and his arms on either side of him. The oxygen machine offers a soft hum to the silent room. I walk closer and stand over him on the side of the bed. He must have felt my shadow fall over him because his eyes open. I meet his gaze and see all the reasons we have not spoken in the last five years dancing within them.

“Dad.” I whisper.

His lips turn up into a smile. “Hey Kiddo.” His words are barely audible.

“They told me you don’t have long.” My throat begins to ache with unspoken words.

He nods. “I should” He breathes, “Have called sooner.”

I take his hand into my own and squeeze. “I should have too.”

He takes his hand away from mine and raises it, pointing to the dresser on the other side of the room. As I approach, I notice a small black leather book resting there. I pick it up and ask “This?” He nods again.

I sit in the chair that is positioned beside him as he says, “For you.”

I feel the worn leather in my hands, before I open it and smell the intoxicating scent of paper mixed with the metallic ink of a pen. His handwriting is scrawled on each page. It is filled with memories and anecdotes from his past. I put the book on the bed grabbing his hand again. “I love you.” I whisper.

“Darling,” He gasps, “I love you too.” His eyelids close and I know that his eyes will not open again. I rest my head on my arm, his hand in mine, I wait.

I’m not sure how much time has passed when I hear my aunt’s voice beside me saying “He’s gone, sweetheart.” I raise my head and see the covers are no longer rising and falling with his breaths. I let go of his hand and stand shakily. My uncle, who I just notice, grabs my elbow. I welcome the support, as I grab the book off the bed and allow myself to be guided down the stairs and into the dining room. My uncle pulls out a chair for me and I sit. We say nothing. After a few moments I look down at the book in my hand. I skim through the pages again, inspecting it more closely now.

I notice that on the last page in big letter the words “The Basement” are written. Nothing else, just that. I’m not sure why, but my legs begin toward the door to the basement. “Where are you going?” I hear my Uncle ask, behind me. I don’t answer.

I search the wall in the darkness for the light switch. The light illuminates a narrow staircase. Each step more unstable than the next. Once I reach the bottom, I find the basement light easily. I look around the small space that holds an old tv, couch and a freezer box. The couch is spotless, as is the tv stand. There is nothing down here. I walk over to the freezer and lift the door up. It is completely empty except for an empty box of waffles and from the looks of it unused for many years. I pick up the box, shaking my head at him leaving an empty box down here for so long. I look inside to make sure it actually is empty and notice an envelope. I take the envelope out and immediately realize that it is filled with cash.

I laugh out loud, sitting on the couch. “Of course, he was hiding money.” I say to the empty room. I count the cash. Twenty thousand dollars. “Foolish old man.” I speak again to no one, laughing. I lean back, covering my mouth with my hand. I think of all the possibilities. A new car. A few fancy meals. A first-class trip to Europe. I could explore all the tourist sights and then some. The beginning of my retirement. Invest into a business plan. Buy all the different flavors of ice cream. I could go on a shopping spree and buy all the clothes that I put back on the rack because they aren’t on clearance. Twenty thousand dollars could really change my life and give me a few memories to look back on. But I already know what to do with the money. I take a thousand dollars from the stack and stuff it into my pocket. I push the remaining bills back into the envelope. I turn off the light and make my way back up the stairs. I find my Aunt sitting at the dining room table drinking a glass of wine. She looks up when I enter, and I see the tears on her face. I lay the envelope on the table in front of her and say, “He would have wanted you to have this. Leave the key under the mat. I’ll be back next week to clean everything out so that we can put the house on the market.” I do not wait for her to discover what is in the envelope. I just leave. I get into my car and pull out of the driveway. I think of all the struggles my aunt has been through for her family and how she is well into retirement age, but still must work. She does nothing but give, even at her own detriment. I don’t want to see her work until her last breath. I want her to make memories and do all the things she planned on doing. Giving her the money felt right, felt like the only real option.

I feel the money I took in my pocket as I pull into a parking spot. I smile as I walk up the sidewalk and open the door to the small shop. A young man from behind the counter smiles. He looks to be no older than sixteen or seventeen. His brown hair curls out from underneath his hat. “What can I get for you?” He asks.

“I would like one of each.” I respond.

“One of each?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, I want a scoop of every flavor. I want to try them all.” I laugh.

As he scoops each flavor, I think of all the times my father would take me to an ice cream shop on a Saturday afternoon, to catch up on what is going on in my life. It seems fitting that I would be here, tonight.

I take a seat near a window and read the black leather journal. As I read each of the memories held within, I catch up on his life.