The attic was in shambles. I had torn open every box, strewn packing paper and bubble wrap every which way. And now I sat in the middle of the attic, with sweat pouring off my brow. Despite the chaos I had created, and my physical discomfort, I was feeling much better: It really had just been a dream. The yellow bowl must have been inside of the suitcase and when the weight shifted, it threw me off balance which caused me to fall down the stairs. This was a simple explanation and one I could live with….despite the bump on my head.
I took a weary glance around the attic, and decided that clean-up could wait until tomorrow. I pulled the stainless steel pull chain with the faded plastic ending, shut off the light, and took extra careful steps down the accordion ladder into the hallway.
The ladder made a resounding creak as the spring-loaded coils assisted me in lifting it back to the ceiling and it alerted my mother. “Are you done up there for today?”
“Yeah. I’m beat.” I replied.
She nodded with understanding, smiling just a bit sadly. “I remember helping my parents move out of their old house. It’s a dirty job.”
I nodded and we both embraced the awkward silence, not knowing exactly what to say.
My mother suddenly broke the ice and said, “Oh! Before you leave, I have a box of things for you to donate or sell on eBay. I don’t care, I just want them out of the house!”
“What? I thought you were letting me handle all the sorting.”
“Oh, we are.” My mother reassured me, “But these things were just collecting dust in the garage, and we won’t have room for them at the new place, so we figured we’d help you out.”
She led me to the garage, and showed me the box, which was filled with an assortment of retro items. My mother couldn’t help herself and began to pull the items out one by one, and tell me stories about each one. At first glance, the box seemed to be filled with outdated junk, but as she held each one up and told its story, I began to appreciate them more. I liked old things. They made me feel warm & fuzzy, and it made me happy to hear my mom get sentimental over them.
My mother exclaimed, “Oh, and this you’ve already seen!”
I peered into the box to see what she could be referring to and froze. Inside the box was a large yellow Pyrex bowl, holding its subsequently younger siblings.
“I thought you took the yellow bowl with you last night,” my mother continued, “But I should have known how you like to keep things organized. You must have seen the other bowls out here.”
“Mmhmm,” I hummed as I bit my lips, not taking my eyes off the bowls.
“They’re a little heavy for me these days,” my mother said, “But I hear they’re highly collectible!” She looked up at me and took in my expression. Misreading it as disappointment she offered, “Or…you could keep them for yourself if you wish. That would have made Grandma happy.”
I did my best to offer her a reassuring smile, but found it difficult to think about anything other than the yellow bowl in the box and the yellow bowl waiting for me at home.
