CRASH!
I awoke with a sudden jolt. My reality violently shaken from the surreal dreams that filled my subconscious. "What was that? " As I looked around the room, I pricked my ears for the sounds of footsteps and whispers. Nothing. All was quiet and still in the house. The bed creaked as I carefully got out. I walked down the hall turning on every light as I past. An old metal book end sat in a pile of rubbish in the corner. I picked it up feeling its secure weight in my hand. As I slowly shuffled through the house, I finally came to the source of the crash. A box had fallen from the top of a book shelf. Pictures, letters, and books were sprawled across the bare wood floor. It was the plaque that had caused the crash. As I bent down to pick the contents of the box, my muscles screaming in protest, my hand hit a worn leather bound book.
It was his old journal. He had written in it everyday when he was in the war. As he thumbed through it he recognized his untidy scrawl. Then a picture fell from between some of the pages. It was that of a toddler. The small boy's face was alight with a huge smile full of small baby teeth.
"Oh my god." As soon as my eyes fell on the faded face in the picture, my heart skipped a beat. I felt like my inside were withering in sorrow and pain while at the same time blossoming with treasured memories. I hadn't seen his face in many years. I averted my eyes every time I passed his picture hanging in the hallway. As I forced my eyes to stay on his small face I felt the hole in my broken heart close slightly. After several minutes of studying every feature of his young face, from his bright eyes to his nose too big for his face to the lines of his mouth turned up in a smile, I forced myself to look away. It was going too fast. The pain that had been diminished by adrenaline came to full strength. The picture fell from my hand, landing on the floor face down. I turned and walked away leaving it untouched where it fell.
The next morning carrying the box with its entire contents, except the photograph of the boy which was still lying on the floor face down, I walked out the front door. The streets were quiet as I walked the block and a half to the bookstore. Entering the dusty shop my eyes took in the walls and walls of books. Standing behind the counter was a young man in a beige sweater. He looked up as I entered.
"May I help you?" he said.
Without a word, I left the box on the counter and walked out of the store. I felt as if a weight had been lifted, just to be filled by another void.
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Harry tucks the last photograph in the cardboard box, and then lifts the surprisingly light box into his arms. "Mrs. Ryan?" he calls, "I'm just gonna run this back to the older man who left it here like I told you." She peers up at him, her eyes a little glazed.
"Sure, dear," she replies, and then looks off into the distance again.
He steps out into the daylight, blinking at first, and checks the little hand-drawn map in his pocket. It's not far at all, he thinks. This won't take long at all.
He quickly walks the block and a half to the address on the map, and then checks it again when he stands before it. The decrepit old lot just doesn't seem to him like the kind of place someone would live, and the ramshackle old house seems to be in such disrepair that no one could live there.
He starts, unsure, towards the house, and stops short when he sees the old man on the front porch. He stands slightly stooped over, a broom in his hand. He stares at Harry wordlessly.
"I'm, uh, just returning some of your belongings. They're all in there. I hope you don't mind that I went through them." He takes another step towards the house, the porch, the man. Adversely, the old man seems to shrink back from him without moving a muscle. Harry stops short. "I guess, uh, I guess I'll leave them here. Ah, if you have questions," he stammers quickly, unsure of what he is even saying, "about what we took, I mean, and what we left... I suppose you know where the shop is."
The old man stares back, still silent.
"Uh," manages Harry again, and then he spins on his heel and leaves the lot, feeling eyes on his back all the way.
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