“This is your last chance, Tara.” My mother warns me. “Your father and I are moving, and we aren’t taking this stuff with us. So come over and help us clean it out of the attic or buy it from one of the local charities in a couple of weeks.”
I sigh. I want to say I don’t have time for this or lament that my parents are moving from my childhood home, but I know I don’t have the right to either of those responses.
“I’ll be over in the morning.”
“Oh good. It will be like a holiday. Robert will be here, too.”
The thought of spending the morning in a dusty attic with my older brother gives me cause to seek an excuse to back out. I open my mouth to speak but don’t get a chance.
“You two can be adults together for a couple of hours and I will make a batch of Christmas crack to munch on while we relax afterward,” my mother knows her children and our weaknesses.
~~
I arrive at my mother’s house early and find my brother’s boat of a car already in the driveway. I grumble as I park on the street and cut across the grass to the front door. I ring the bell. I feel I have outgrown just walking into the house. My mother obviously feels differently. No one answers, so I open the door.
“Mom?”
“We’re in the kitchen, dear.”
I join her and my brother. She stirs a bubbling pan of future toffee he while leans on a counter, sipping milk and nibbling on a cookie.
“I wondered when you would get here, slowpoke.”
I roll my eyes. “I am early, just like you.”
“Not just like me. I was here first.”
“You two. Stop distracting me, so I can finish this. You both know where the attic is.” She waves her wooden spoon in that general direction.
Properly motivated, we mount the stairs to the second floor. We stand staring at the cord that brings down the attic ladder for a few minutes before I give in and pull it down. Soon we are standing in the attic, blinking in the light of a bare bulb.
“Wow.” Robert stares at the piles of boxes, “Are these really all ours?”
“Must be. I saw all the Christmas stuff piled up in the living room.”
“I am guessing the ones with pink stickers are yours.” He opens the box closest to him which has no label. “Jackpot.”
I peek over his shoulder and see cars jumbled together inside the box. He shakes it to shift them around, grinning as old favorites are revealed. He places the box to one side and opens the next. This one features college textbooks. He shoves that box off into another pile. I stop watching him and turn toward some of the pink-marked boxes.
The first few boxes contain toys in various states of disrepair. Each holds a special memory, so I start a keep pile with those. The next contains loosely piled papers. A quick glance reveals that these should have found their way to the recycling can before I moved out of my parents’ house. I shake my head and start a third stack.
I glance up to see my brother happily ensconced in playing with something inside another box of goodies. I shake my head and resist the urge to ask questions. He glances up at me and grins.
“Need something, sis?”
“Nope.” I quickly grab the nearest box and pull it toward me.
The bright pink tub holds the outfits of my childhood that I couldn’t part with even when I had outgrown them. As I pull out each item and carefully fold it to place it on the lid, I am amazed at how my style changed over the years. The top layers are dark-colored, loose fitting tops and tight jeans. Below that a myriad of pinks unfolds itself. Nestled amongst all the pink is one brown item. I bite my lip to keep from squealing in delight as I pull it out of the tub.
I rest my cheek on the soft velour. I close my eyes. Startled by a feeling of dizziness that overcomes me, I clutch the fabric in my fist and breath deeply.
The dry dusty scent of the attic fades away. The fertile scents of spring rush over me. The dew on the green grass feels fabulous on my feet, warmed by racing around the backyard in my new brown velour dress with delicate blue flowers along the square collar.
The minute I saw the dress, I wanted it. I didn’t care that I found it draped across a table at one of my mother’s boring yard sales. I could tell it would fit me beautifully. My mother was so excited that I finally took an interest in a bargain that she bought it for me on the spot and even threw it in the wash as soon as we got home.
As soon as I put it on, I transformed into Princess Moonbeam of the Midnight tribe. Forgive me. I was about nine years old. I didn’t know much about Native Americans. I knew that they were wild and fierce and beautiful and free and that is what I wanted to be. And I was all that and more in that dress—free and barefoot. I stalked an imaginary deer that morning and I caught it, too. I only came inside when my mother called me for dinner.
Many more days passed that way throughout that spring and into the summer. I had a growth spurt in the fall so when it warmed up enough to become and Indian princess again, my dress no longer fit. I sigh as I think of it, longing to really be back in that time when my imagination could take me anywhere.
I still feel the warm spring breeze on my face. The scents of wildflowers rise up to tickle my nose. I open my eyes and all of that fades away as the harsh light of the bulb above my head pulls me our of my reverie.The brightness reminds me of the temporary feeling of faintness and I stumble.
“You okay?” Robert looks at me with uncharacteristic concern.
“Yeah. Fine. I think I need a break.”
I gently set the dress in my keep pile and take tentative steps toward the ladder. I feel Robert place a steadying hand on my elbow as he steps in front of me to guide me down the stairs. Neither of us mentions his kindness, but as I take that last step to the firm floor of the hallway, I give him a grateful smile. He nods his understanding.
By the time we enter the kitchen with the overwhelming smell of roasted pecans, toffee, and warm chocolate, we have resumed our normal dynamic. He teases me and I ignore him. Our mother smiles at us as we enter the kitchen.
“Have you finished?”
“Just taking a break.” Robert looks at me out of the corner of his eye as he continues. “I needed a glass of water.”
“That sounds like I good idea.” I eye a steaming tray of Christmas crack as I grab two glasses and fill them.
“Don’t even think about it, Tara. You both know the rules. Clean your stuff out of my attic or no treats for you. Besides, it needs to set.”
We nod out agreement and sit at the table to drink our water and rest our feet. Soon we are back at it, digging for treasures. I find a few more that I have forgotten but none affects me quite like that dress.
When I return home, I wash and dry it on a gentle cycle before carrying it upstairs to my bedroom. Once there, I fold the dress carefully, wrap it in tissue paper and hide it under the blankets in the blanket chest at the foot of my bed. Perhaps, I will have a daughter someday. And maybe that daughter will wear this dress and be transported as I was.
~~I think every mom has something they want to pass down to their child. Of course, the most important gifts are love and wisdom won from experiences we’d never want our loved ones to repeat but sometimes it is a memory. It is never too early to jot some of the best ones down to share with posterity.~~
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