The Veils: Childhood 1 (special preview)

When I was little, I was sent to live with a distant relative. There had been an accident that took my parents, although I can’t really recall it. Aside from photographs, I can’t really recall much of my family before then. The first thing I could ever clearly bring up is that house on the hill. It was old then, paint peeling off the sides, the columns cracked and chipping. But it was the rolling sea of grass behind it I remember the most. It faded on and on into the distance, green as far as the eye could see. It waved and rolled in the wind, moving in a way that seemed very unlike grass.

My aunt, at least that’s what I called her, took me in without hesitation. She was a kind woman, doting with extremely curly hair. Aunt Fifi had bought the house in hopes of renovating it, making it a grand home full of rooms so she could take in kids as a foster parent. She already had one kid staying with her at the time, a boy around my age named Atticus who was my first friend. Although, he left the house long ago.

I stayed with Aunt Fifi and, bit by bit, we slowly restored some of the old house. I even made what I learned from this my career and small business. Other kids passed through, coming and going throughout my life. But none were like Atticus.

After Aunt Fifi passed away, I kept working on repairing the house. I wanted to finish what she started, to see the house complete. After that, I have no clue what I’ll do. I’ve always been here, maybe I always will be.

I was packing up Aunt Fifi’s belongings. It had been months now, and her room had remained the only one untouched since she got it. The floors were bare and worn away. The wallpaper was peeling away from the walls, ripped away in some places. I thought that by making her room as beautiful as possible, it would serve as a loving tribute to her. I kept what I wanted of her things and boxed up the rest. I thought about donating it, but then I had been seeing lots of the kids she had fostered and I decided to keep it all in case any of them wanted a memory of her.

For now I could keep the boxes in the attic. The last I could remember there wasn’t much up there to begin with. I pulled down the ladder and hauled up my first box, tossing it inside. I then peeked around and was struck hard by nostalgia. I finished climbing up the stairs and stood there in the attic. The window let in light that was filled with dust I just kicked up. Under the window was a small table and chairs. The table had candles in tins upon it, along with several worn notebooks.

This was where Atticus and I used to play. We would sit at this table and pretend to be great and highly respected thinkers. We’d write down our thoughts, our stories, in those notebooks. We stole old candles that Aunt Fifi would throw away, although we never lit them as we weren’t allowed matches. I sat down at the table, smoothing my hand over the top where I saw names carved into the surface; ‘Atticus + Daisy’. Daisy? I don’t remember a Daisy being here. My name is Margaret.

My memory had never been very good, but this seemed like such a sad thing to forget. This is where my childhood was made, where I spent most of my time with Atticus. And if Atticus held affections for a girl named Daisy, I surely would have remembered that. As I thought about it, I realized that even though I remembered him fondly, I could barely bring up his face. I thought about him often, especially since Aunt Fifi passed away. But I could not bring up things in my mind that were once so important to me.

I took a notebook and opened it up; dust had collected along the cover and slipped against my fingers. The pages inside were crisp, warped by heavy handed writing and the many, many words upon them.

“Daisy sits across from me, she’s talking about poetry. She thinks I’m writing it down, but I won’t. Instead I’ll write this and that. I think her eyes are pretty. I think that big freckle on the tip of her nose is cute. She still can’t remember that her birthday is coming up, but I’ll remind her. Like always, I’m the brain between us!”

I smoothed my hand over the passage. I guess, even back then, I had been having some lapses in memory. I then saw a line written in faded yellow colored pencil. I moved closer to the window in order to read it.

“Daisy hates the ocean. I hate the bathtub. We both drowned and now we’re here.”

A cold chill ran up my spine then crashed back down into my gut where it sunk like a stone. I never drowned. I don’t hate the ocean! I’ve never even been. How could I say for sure? I closed the notebook and laid it back on the table in the space where there was no dust.

I went to finish taking up the rest of Aunt Fifi’s things into the attic. My pulse was racing and, when I went to pick up a box, my hands were trembling. I dropped a box and her things spilled out. It was mostly scarves, though, luckily. I scooped them back into the box and hurried it up the stairs. I looked back towards the table then quickly left again.

A few days later, a young woman who had been fostered by Aunt Fifi came by to pay her respects. I offered her something of Aunt Fifi’s and she happily accepted, so I made my way into the attic. I found the box of scarves and one was already sticking out. I went to grab it when I saw a shadow at the corner of the room. It moved just out of the corner of my eye and then stood there. I tried to follow it but, when I tried to look at it directly, it vanished. I gave the woman the scarf and we sat and talked for a long time.

“There was a boy here once,” she said thoughtfully. “He reminded me of that book, Harriet the Spy? Remember him? Always carried around a notebook. Always was watching people and listening to them. You two were joined at the hip, though.” She chuckled thoughtfully. “I can’t remember his name.”

I can’t quite remember, I think Atticus was long gone before she arrived. “I don’t recall that,” I said.

“You don’t?” She seemed so surprised. “I guess you saw a lot of kids come through here,” she then sighed. “They must all get muddled together.”