Waiting For August

Part 13~Texting August

Later in the evening I ventured into no-man's land, that level of floorspace reserved for housing all which we wished to forget and yet were too afraid to part ways with, for the mere chance that it may one day become either precious or once more useful: the attic. I stood staring at the stair door, flashlight in hand. I had promised Denae that I would look for any property records that I could find, and I had put off the search for as long as possible. If there was anything useful to be found, it would need to be located before the survey crew began work on Thursday.

Grasping the handle, I forced the old knob, the latch releasing with a dull clunk as it gave way, the door swinging effortlessly open into the foot of the stairs. I snapped the old switch, and the light overhead welcomed me to its chaotic abyss. 

I honestly couldn't remember the last time I had ascended these stairs, perhaps when playing hide and seek as a child. It was much like I remembered. Old furniture we no longer had space for was covered with dust cloths. Among them, there was an old desk and a wardrobe; the kind one might slip away to Narnia through, as well as a few cardboard boxes and steamer trunks. There was an old dress dummy from the days when clothes were fashioned at home and yet hardly fashionable and a few old paintings and picture frames.

I searched the desk first and was amazed by its condition. Although old, it was large and sturdy, its top was plumb, and its drawers opened smoothly without a hint of drag. If refinished it would make quite a collector's piece, and it was really a waste to have it sitting collecting dust up here. Unfortunately, while it held old photo albums and journals, there was nothing pertaining to property deeds or land records.

The wardrobe smelt of mothballs and was equally bare, containing an old fur coat, a suit which might have once belonged to my great-grandfather and a yellowed, white-lace wedding dress that had at one time been carefully wrapped in plastic. That left a few trunks and boxes to sort through. 

The first trunk contained clothing, the next an assortment of castaway items, everything from old picture frames and candlesticks to a set of incomplete dishes. The final trunk looked to be equally uneventful. The top tray was full of little Knick knacks, and an old boardgame that I vaguely remember playing as a child. I lifted the top tray expecting much of the same but was instead rewarded with a box full of paperwork. It looked like my ancestors had kept everything from report cards and receipts to insurance papers and bank statements, and they had lumped it all together in here.

I started the tedious task of going through the collected assortment, eventually pulling out some papers that looked like a combination of land maps and blueprints. I gathered everything that seemed to be related and rolled them up together. 

Heading back to the stairs, I turned once more to survey the room. It was wasted space. Much of what was kept up here was no longer cherished, the people who had originally stored it no longer living. My parents had moved to North Bay when they had retired and as far as I was concerned had abandoned any claim to what remained. The attic would make an excellent bedroom or a lounge space for the teens if properly finished. Not that I needed yet another project.

I descended the stairs and snapped off the light before closing the stairwell door. I'd drop the papers off in the morning and consider my part in this mess finished.

***

On Friday I was having yet another sleepless night. I went to the kitchen and filled the kettle before turning it on. While I waited for it to boil, I took a seat at the table. I hadn't heard from August for days, and I couldn't get him out of my mind. He kept infiltrating my thoughts while I was completing even the most mundane of tasks. However, I couldn't think of an excuse to randomly contact him. Lying in bed at night was the worst. I would stare up at the pattern of moonlight across my ceiling and wonder if he was sleeping or if perhaps, he too was lying awake.