wardrobe. Hurry, I was instructed next, and I listened to the voice without a second thought as if my body were completely out of my control, and my mind worked by someone else.
I opened the wardrobe and stepped inside, pushing aside my dad’s clothes as heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.
Slide the wall open, and follow the stairs. My fingers felt their way across the smooth back wall, knowing exactly what they were looking for, and I slid a door to one side and stepped through, closing it behind me.
It was pitch black inside, and yet- I instinctively knew where to put my feet. I let my body guide me up the narrow wooden staircase, where I lay down trying to cut my stare through the blackness, until I heard the voice no more and my eyes eventually closed.
***
I awoke to find myself lying on a hard wood floor with a low hanging roof, supported by wooden beams. The room was narrow and the only light came from a standing lamp, with a dusty, fringed, mink coloured shade.
I sat up feeling disorientated, and rubbed my eyes as if the scene before me would change. The room was empty apart from a pile of large boxes that were stacked neatly, in the far corner of the room. I was in someone’s attic, I was sure of that, but I was clueless to how I got here, or why.
I got up and walked slowly to the boxes in the corner. There were no labels, and out of curiosity, I opened the top box.
I rummaged through carefully, and found that it was full of women’s clothes. I pulled out a long floaty Aztec print strapless dress, and I caught the vague scent of stale citrus rise up as I moved it. I put the dress away carefully and started on the second box.
This time, the box was full of unusual looking objects. I settled my hands on a circular object with blue and white feathers dangling from it, on a string of sparkling blue beads. A detailed star, come flower shape, had been woven into the middle of the circle.
A dream catcher.
I set it aside on the floor, and put the box back.
I opened up the next box and as I looked down at the contents, I swung back on my heels in shock.
In the box, a picture of a beautiful, long dark haired woman, was smiling back at me from where she sat- amongst a cluster of white, and slate coloured rocks, with a few sparse pine trees protruding from in-between. Still crystal blue water surrounded the rocks, and snow-capped mountains rose up in the background. She wore a strapless Aztec print dress, and her familiar golden brown eyes shone brightly. It was those exact eyes that made me jump back in horror.
They were my eyes.
I pushed myself forward to peek another glimpse inside of the box, and the same scene still sat there looking back at me. I grabbed the photograph turning it over in my hands.
Savannah 30th July 1995 was written on the back in neat cursive handwriting. That was the day before my birthday, except I wasn’t born when this picture was taken. I didn’t exist.
We had no family photos, and I’d never seen what my mother actually looked like, but everything I imagined stared back at me from this happy snapshot.
My dad claimed all our photographs were destroyed in a flood before we moved to Friday harbor from Carson City, after my mom died. So I had no piece of my past that involved me as a baby, or my dead mother.
I could fit all of the photographs that we did have, into a small album that I kept stashed away in a box under my bed. My dad had told me about my mom a thousand times, lulling me to sleep with stories of her gracious beauty and big heart, but I never dreamed she would be this stunning. And as much as he loved telling me about the person she was, and how unbelievably beautiful she was; he never told me any stories about their life together. I knew absolutely nothing about her. Not really.
I looked down at her olive skin that looked as smooth as satin, and her eyes glowed, holding all the power of the sun behind them.
I put the picture down next to
I opened the wardrobe and stepped inside, pushing aside my dad’s clothes as heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.
Slide the wall open, and follow the stairs. My fingers felt their way across the smooth back wall, knowing exactly what they were looking for, and I slid a door to one side and stepped through, closing it behind me.
It was pitch black inside, and yet- I instinctively knew where to put my feet. I let my body guide me up the narrow wooden staircase, where I lay down trying to cut my stare through the blackness, until I heard the voice no more and my eyes eventually closed.
***
I awoke to find myself lying on a hard wood floor with a low hanging roof, supported by wooden beams. The room was narrow and the only light came from a standing lamp, with a dusty, fringed, mink coloured shade.
I sat up feeling disorientated, and rubbed my eyes as if the scene before me would change. The room was empty apart from a pile of large boxes that were stacked neatly, in the far corner of the room. I was in someone’s attic, I was sure of that, but I was clueless to how I got here, or why.
I got up and walked slowly to the boxes in the corner. There were no labels, and out of curiosity, I opened the top box.
I rummaged through carefully, and found that it was full of women’s clothes. I pulled out a long floaty Aztec print strapless dress, and I caught the vague scent of stale citrus rise up as I moved it. I put the dress away carefully and started on the second box.
This time, the box was full of unusual looking objects. I settled my hands on a circular object with blue and white feathers dangling from it, on a string of sparkling blue beads. A detailed star, come flower shape, had been woven into the middle of the circle.
A dream catcher.
I set it aside on the floor, and put the box back.
I opened up the next box and as I looked down at the contents, I swung back on my heels in shock.
In the box, a picture of a beautiful, long dark haired woman, was smiling back at me from where she sat- amongst a cluster of white, and slate coloured rocks, with a few sparse pine trees protruding from in-between. Still crystal blue water surrounded the rocks, and snow-capped mountains rose up in the background. She wore a strapless Aztec print dress, and her familiar golden brown eyes shone brightly. It was those exact eyes that made me jump back in horror.
They were my eyes.
I pushed myself forward to peek another glimpse inside of the box, and the same scene still sat there looking back at me. I grabbed the photograph turning it over in my hands.
Savannah 30th July 1995 was written on the back in neat cursive handwriting. That was the day before my birthday, except I wasn’t born when this picture was taken. I didn’t exist.
We had no family photos, and I’d never seen what my mother actually looked like, but everything I imagined stared back at me from this happy snapshot.
My dad claimed all our photographs were destroyed in a flood before we moved to Friday harbor from Carson City, after my mom died. So I had no piece of my past that involved me as a baby, or my dead mother.
I could fit all of the photographs that we did have, into a small album that I kept stashed away in a box under my bed. My dad had told me about my mom a thousand times, lulling me to sleep with stories of her gracious beauty and big heart, but I never dreamed she would be this stunning. And as much as he loved telling me about the person she was, and how unbelievably beautiful she was; he never told me any stories about their life together. I knew absolutely nothing about her. Not really.
I looked down at her olive skin that looked as smooth as satin, and her eyes glowed, holding all the power of the sun behind them.
I put the picture down next to
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