The Pickle?

“Boy, did we get ourselves into quite a pickle!”

I heard the voice whispering as I cautiously approached the top of the attic stairs. The door was slightly ajar. I had expected the air to be stale and musty. I paused for a moment, fearful of what waited for me on the other side. I slowly pushed the door open, peeking around the corner.

The attic was very claustrophobic, with boxes stacked to the rafters. One narrow path had been created through the mountain of chaos. The attic was quite dark and dimly bathed in clouded moonlight. There was a distinct smell of mothballs and old cedar in the air.

In the distance, I could see the silhouette of a figure, sitting in a chair with fingers fumbling rapidly with something unfamiliar. My curiosity got the best of me, so I slowly started walking toward it, being careful not to bring attention to myself. I tiptoed softly, and yet the boards seemed to moan underneath my feet. My hands became slicked with sweat as anxiety built up within me. My breathing became short and more rapid as I approached the back of the person hunched over whatever was in its lap.

You can do this. I kept repeating it to myself in my head as I edged my way closer. You can do this

Suddenly the figure became very still, yet the flickering light of the candle cast a very energetic shadow upon the floor, almost as if the figure was dancing. Suddenly the chair began to start rocking back and forth slowly and a voice blurted…

“Boy, what are you doing up here? Are you trying to spy on me?”

“No, grandpa. Uh… Uh…” I started to stutter. Thoughts quickly swarmed my brain. Quick, Josh – think of something.

“Mom wanted me to tell you to come down. It’s time for dinner and she’s made your favorite – meatloaf.”

“Oh, she did, huh?” he mumbled. “It’s not polite to sneak up on people. Come here, boy!” Grandpa said in a stern voice.

As I continued to get closer, stepping carefully through the pathway between the jumble, he reached down for an ornately carved chest that sat beside the chair. It was quite small, and the carvings were nothing like I had ever seen before. It appeared to be some form of text and symbols, and it was covered in a thick layer of dust. Grandpa’s silhouette quickly fumbled with the latch, rapidly opening the lid and placing that ‘thing’ inside which he’d been handling when I first caught him in my sight. He was quick, and although I could not make out exactly what it was, as it was wrapped in an old handkerchief tattered with holes, it almost looked like something made in…. But whatever it was, it appeared to be old.

“Come boy…quickly. I’m getting older by the second.”

“What did you put in that box, Grandpa?” I asked as I stood behind his chair. “It looked really old,” I continued.

He quickly spun around, and in his hand he was holding the old candlestick. His hands were trembling as the flame danced beneath his face. Each flicker illuminated the deep folds differently, with every wrinkle telling a story. His eyes were deep set and fatigued, resembling that of coal. His silver hair was sparse, and disheveled. He slowly raised his arm without

a sound, and motioned with his gnarled misshapen fingers for me to come closer.

“Come here and sit down.” With his voice strong, yet quavering.

I moved my way to the front of his rocking chair and sat down with my legs folded, Indian style, and my hands in my lap. I slowly pushed my glasses back and the long curly stray hairs out of my face as we locked stares. I gave him my undivided attention, eagerly awaiting his words. He slowly placed the candlestick on the chest beside his chair, the same chest that held his secret. I sat in silence, staring at his fragile body as he peered out of the attic window as if he was eagerly waiting for something. (attic needs to be drafty)

“What are you looking at, boy?” he mumbled grumpily.

“I’m just waiting on you grandpa.” I replied with a crooked smile. “You asked me to come sit down beside you.”

“Ah, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Have I ever told you about the days when libraries were on every corner?”

“Libraries?” I questioned. “No sir. Umm—what are libraries?” My mind began to race. Could this be the big secret he has been hiding all these years?

“Arrrrrr, these teeth – I can’t talk with these teeth in my mouth.” He slowly reached into his mouth and quickly removed his teeth. I sat as my eyes became wide open, unsure of what he was trying to tell me. He seemed preoccupied and his mind was everywhere. He pulled a stain-covered linen from his shirt pocket and clumsily wrapped his teeth in it.

“Ahh, yes… That’s much better.” He mumbled and then placed them on the chest next to the candle. He stared at the chest for a bit and slowly caressed it.

“Grandpa, are you okay?” I asked with hesitation.

He rapidly turned toward me, all hunched over, his face directly in front of mine and expressionless.

“The year was 2020, and boy, did we get ourselves into quite a pickle…”