Going in the empty house was a little nostalgic. My grandparents had lived in this home for seventy years. They had been gone only three months, it was my first time to come inside. Opening the door the odors immediately took me to a child again. The lemon smell almost caused me to cry. Starch, cleanliness engulfed my senses.
I was there to gather a few things from the attic. Walking up the cranky stairs brought back memories. I found myself close to tears. Opening the door I saw the camel back trunk and walked quickly to it. Lifting the lid I saw the crocheted scarfs. Moving them I found the enamel red box.
I left the house placing the box under my arm. Waiting until I was home before lifting the lid. The most delicate work of art laid before my eyes. The parchment paper was written in beautiful script. Calligraphy I knew was my grandmother's handwriting.
"Allow this to shelter your love for one another. The magic inside of the knots will keep your love tied to one another. The precious stones will bring beauty to your days. The feathers will bring you laughter and tickle your souls. Hang this above your bed it has been handed down in our family. Remember 'Somewhere over the rainbow way up high. Somewhere over the rainbow blue birds fly. Somewhere the dreams you dare to dream come true. We shall meet again. You are now the keeper of this."
Tears sprung to my eyes. My marriage was a sham, my husband was clearly banging his secretary. Every night he was late, I gained a new piece of expensive jewelry. We lived in a home without life inside of it. Now how could this delicate piece of circle change that? Walking into our bedroom I couldn't look upon the four poster bed without a pang of jealousy. How long? Three months? Eight months? It was my prison. I was dried up inside, long past crying for sexual contacts.
