I think I had a pretty standard upbringing, coming from a two-parent household with a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. I got good grades and stayed out of trouble. I was even involved in sports, having played soccer all through middle and high school. It kept me busy. It also kept me in good shape, although my 6' frame was a little leaner than I would have liked. My dirty blond hair and blue eyes were always a hit with the ladies, and I've been told that I have a warm, albeit somewhat timid, smile. Now in my senior year, I am soon set to graduate. The "senior trip" to Florida was only a week away, and I was looking forward to spending some unsupervised time with my friends. That was until my parents informed me of a change in plans. My grandfather, whom I had only met once or twice, had passed away. As the only child, my dad was heading down to Arizona to clean out his estate and get everything ready to be sold. And as my parent's only child, I was going to help. And just like that, my week of fun on a Florida beach had transformed into a week of manual labor in Arizona's dry heat.
Although they didn't explicitly rejoice as his passing, I could see my parents were looking forward to the potential financial windfall this might bring. My dad had just recently quit his job at a larger company to strike out on his own and the financial burden this imposed on the family was significant. Currently, my mom's salary as a teacher was the only thing holding the family afloat until Dad got things running. Or so I pieced it together from overheard hushed conversations and our family's newfound frugalness, since none of this was explicitly told to me. So, when they broke the news, I did not whine or complain too much. I suspected that even if this convenient excuse did not unexpectedly pop up, my Florida trip would have had to be cancelled anyway. I was actually kind of relieved that my fun wouldn't be putting an extra burden on the family.
In the days leading up to our departure I was debriefed on our task. My grandfather had lived alone on the outskirts of town, which was no surprise given that Dad had always said he was a mean alcoholic. My parents had apparently been warned that his house was filled with things that he had collected over the years, having had run a small number of failed businesses in his life. As such, our task was mostly going to center around filtering, organizing, and throwing out his belongings. It sounded easy enough.
I was actually looking forward to spending the week with my dad. Although I was frequently the subject of his attention when he was home, he worked hard to rise in the corporate ranks, which meant we did not see him as much as we would have liked. He did always make sure to attend a game or two every season though. It's not that he was an "absent father" or anything like that, it was more like he always had half of his mind on home and half on work. When we would speak, it often felt like he still saw me as a child since he wasn't always there for the smaller milestones. I was hoping that his sudden change in career would help him be more present, and this week would be a nice test run for that. I was kind of excited to have this extra opportunity to get to know each other before I went away to college.
When the time finally came to fly out, I was completely prepared. I had packed a carry-on bag full of everything I was going to need. I was told that Arizona was currently in the middle of a heat wave, so I packed accordingly, meaning I pretty much brought what I always wear anyway: shorts, t-shirts and a pair of jeans, just in case. I also brought more underwear and socks than was strictly necessary. Being an athlete, I knew that everything else could be done without, but one always needed clean and dry socks and underwear.
On the morning of departure, Mom dropped us off at the airport. I had my stuffed duffle bag, and Dad had his small carry-on, which was full of necessary documents and records, as well two big suitcases lightly loaded with clothes. My mom argued that he would want the extra storage space if we found anything in Grandpa's house that we wanted to bring back. We boarded, flew and landed, all without any issues. However, when we went to gather our bags after landing, we realized that they were not coming. The airport had lost Dad's luggage. It was a very inauspicious beginning to our little trip, and he was not happy. The airport had promised that they would locate his luggage and would be in contact with him as soon as possible. He left them with the phone number to grandfather's house, we rented a car, and we were on our way, all while my dad grumpily murmured about the airline and its support staff.
As soon we stepped foot outside, the heat hit us like a physical barrier. We both instantly started sweating. The difference between the conditioned air of the airport and the dry heat of outside was jarring enough to make me gasp. We loaded into our rented car and cranked the air as we settled in for a decently long drive to our destination. As we made our way, Dad told me about his dad. I learned about my grandfather, my dad, and their relationship. It was fun to hear my dad reminisce and talk about his childhood and adolescence, and I was already glad that I accompanied him on this trip. He seemed more than relaxed, like he was liberated. I don't know if it was the death of his father, with whom he had a very volatile and unhappy relationship, or the change in his career, but I was happy to see him be so open.
We arrived at the house around midday. It looked to be a well-kept ranch style home. My dad pulled up, switched the ignition off, and turned to look at me. He took a deep breath, and asked "Are you ready?" I gave a definitive nod. I could already feel the heat creeping back in as the air stopped flowing, but it was tolerable. I began to wonder why I had been so dramatic before... then I opened the car door. Being a native of Minnesota, this was a whole other level of heat than I had ever experienced. I could tell Dad was struggling with it as well.
The inside of the house was a shock. As soon as we set foot in the house, the enormity of our task started settling in. Everywhere I looked, there were things piled. Stuff on top of stuff. We gave each other a look but said nothing. Dad pushed into the house, skirting alongside a wall of stuff until we got to a clearing. In the middle of the chaos, there was a haven. The living room and the kitchen were completely devoid of the piles that seemingly filled every inch of this house. There was a bed in the living room instead of a couch, so we figured that he slept there. Meaning that the actual bedroom was probably too full of shit to actually use. We kept exploring. It was a three bedroom, two bath house, and it was full. The master bathroom was too inaccessible to check, but the other bath at the end of the hallway was cleared. We regrouped in the living room to discuss what we had walked into. My dad started, "Well, in some ways this is worse than I imagined, but in others, it is better."
I was shocked, "How could this possibly be any better than you expected?"
"Well, the house is clean," he began before I shot him a look of disbelief. He chuckled, "the stuff that he has is actual stuff, it's not garbage at least. Like actual trash I mean." I maintained my look of skepticism, but he continued, "His last business was an antique store, and looking around, that it what a lot of this looks like." Looking around, and that did seem to be mostly correct. And there wasn't any real noticeable odor to the house, other than maybe a little bit of dust. Hell, there may even be something of value hidden in one of these piles somewhere. Seeing my moment of weakness, he pounced, "Okay then. I say that we take the day to set up home base here in the living room, and then we can start fresh tomorrow."
I slowly nodded in acceptance, "That sounds fine as long as we can turn on the air." We were both already dripping sweat having walked around the house on our little tour.
