There was something off about that November morning. Something beyond a bad feeling. It was the same dance I tipped toed for a decade or so. My eyes peeled open to the white ceiling fan that caused my permanent stuffy nose. Before my body could rise, my heart rate had just barely made the finish line. I felt the same stomach pain, same dizziness, and same jitters. Those did not get left behind in Montana.
I sat up on my bed and waited for Pops to crow. “3…2..1” I said to myself. I lifted my fingers with confidence counting down. “Salone” Pops screeched. I arose to my feet and began the same dance again. I looked at my butterfly calendar hanging from a plastic thumbtack on my oaky brown walls. “Day 6935” I reminded myself as I shut my bedroom door. I always thought birthdays were supposed to be the day. Ya know? The day where everyone is looking at you, talking to you? But just like every birthday, the first words of the day are “What can I do for you?” Pops didn’t take his gaze off the laptop in front of him. He was hunched over extensively, it was painful just to watch. “Fetch me my glasses will you?” he said in his monotony “I’m busy” voice. I walked back up the stairs and turned to my left instead. My fingers traced the doorknob of his room. I pushed it open and found the dented glasses on his nightstand. I rushed back down the stairs to hurry him off to work. I placed them upon his head and twirled to the fridge to grab his lunch.
He stood up and gazed somewhere beyond me. Stood still right before the doorway. “I almost forgot!” he said, turning to face me. “For you” he grinned. He held out a yellow envelope. In black pen was scribbled “Salone Davis”. I grasped it with excitement. He walked out the door, keys in hand. I locked the door behind him staring at my first piece of mail delivered to the new house. I ran up the stairs and turned to my right. I hoped it was a birthday card, money, no money. I would be happy regardless. I pushed open my bedroom door while my heart was thumping. I fell back into my bed and held the yellow note up in the air in desperation of just a hint. I flipped over onto my stomach and squealed with excitement. I ripped open the envelope and my fingers searched another paper. With no hesitation, I ripped it out to reveal its unknown message.
My stomach fell to the floor as my eyes familiarized the writing on the yellow paper. I must have reread that unorganized alphabet about a million times. As every hair on my body began to rise, “If you “love” me so much, then why haven’t I heard from you in forever ??” I let out. I felt full of fear at maximum capacity. The same deep sea feeling. I began to gasp for air. The air feels fresher on the throat here than it did back in Montana.
I wanted to scream but my body knew silence was safer. I decided to walk to the bathroom to wash my face. As I was drying off, I remembered the tasks list that Pops left for me last night. I rushed back downstairs to the kitchen, frantically searching for another dreadful piece of paper. I found it hidden beneath the newspaper Pops brought in this morning. First, clean up his breakfast mess. I tossed the greasy pan into the dishwasher and loaded it full. As I was scrubbing Pops’s coffee mug I stared out the small window pane in front of me. I wondered who could have sent me a note so needy but so sinister.
I began to reflect on my past relationships back in Montana. I wondered if maybe I didn’t completely right all my wrongs before we left. I drained my brain and the sink only to gaze back at my list. Next, Pops’s bedroom and bathroom. The bedroom door was still wide open from the glasses fiasco earlier this morning. I waltzed in and assessed the damage. I began making his bed and picking up his old socks from the beginning of the week. I counted nine socks in total. Three of which had holes. I looked in his closet, his bathroom, and his hamper. Per usual I could not find it. I wondered where this torn up fabric could have been. I got down and placed my knees on the deep brown wood flooring. I bent over and peeked my head underneath Pops’s bed in hopes of finding this raggedy sock. I grazed my fingers as far as I could, grasping at whatever item I touched first. I felt a cardboard box. One small enough for a pair of girls shoes but definitely not mens. It was all black and had little silver linings covering the trim. I carefully pulled the box out, curious to know why it was placed beneath the bed of all places. Before I could lift the lid I heard a car pull into the gravel driveway. The same music that plays a monotone tune every evening when Pops comes home from work. The rocks swayed beneath his tires and sang a tune of warning. I grabbed the box and ran across the hall to my bedroom. I shut the door behind me and locked it quickly.
My heart began to beat to the same monotone tune, but there were scratches on the record. I felt my chest tighten as I peeled back my closet doors. I shoved the box into a pile of dirty clothes, closed the doors, and let out a huge sigh. I ran back and before I could unlock the door, the doorknob began to frantically shake. “Salone why is this door locked? You know how I feel about that.” he growled. I quickly unlocked the door with shaky hands. “I’m sorry Pops there was a loud noise so I ran and hid.” I pleaded. He stared off down the stairs at the front door. “I forgot my office keys.” “I’ll go grab them for you.” I said. He shook the car keys in his pocket and started heading down the stairs. I grabbed his keys out of his wooden nightstand drawer and rushed downstairs to meet him. I handed the keys over and without a word, he walked out and shut the door. I waited in the kitchen pretending to be reading the newspaper from this morning until I could no longer hear his car. As soon as the silence hit, I threw the newspaper onto the counter and my bare feet tapped the wooden stairs as I flew up to my room. I could smell the mildew dripping from the trim above my window. It clogged my nose with an eerie sense of familiarity. I peeled my closet doors back once more. With desperation I dug my hands in the dirty clothes pile, which was hiding away the black box I could not get off my mind. I finally felt the cool metal handles and slipped it out from underneath a brown jacket that was donated to me a couple months prior. I sat directly in the middle of my mildew scented room and peeled off the black lid with my fingers. The box smelled of dried paper.
It reminded me of the year Pops and I would deliver newspapers for $3 an hour. We would spend hours out late at night just driving around and throwing them out the windows and onto the driveways of those I will never meet. Inside the box held various colors of notes addressed to “Salone Davis”. I ran to pick up the note from this morning off my white pillow case. I traced my name with my fingers in comparison to the other millions of messages within the box. The S’s were all the same, with a small little unnecessary curve at the end. I decided to reach in and grab the next note that touched my fingertips. It was a lighter shade of yellow. The seal was broken on the left corner of the envelope. Without hesitation, I pulled it up and tore the seal off. Inside was a small red piece of paper that contained a portrait of the same face I am greeted with in the mirror. It was drawn with a blue ballpoint pen and had tiny smears around the edges of my features. As accurate as it was, It sent a chill down my spine. On the back of the paper read “You don’t know what love is”. My mind turned off. I no longer could hear the songbird outside my window that rested my mind in time of chaos. I wondered where it had gone. Why it left and when it would return. I really needed a song at that point. Anything to break the silence that spun around the room. I reached into the box forcing all the colorful letters out of the way. I parted the sea of words and searched below for anything out of the ordinary. Although none of this was ordinary. Before I could give up my attempt, I found a small baby photo at the bottom of the box, it was smothered from the weight of these thousands of little notes.
The little girl in the photo was holding a red plastic ball. She grasped it with pure excitement and joy gleaned from her face. Although she only had two teeth, her smile was pure and genuine. Something I have not seen in so long. I turned the photo in between my fingers. Analyzing the rips and tears it earned over the years of suffocation. On the back was a tiny message written in red pen. “My little girl” was written all over the back in perfect parallel lines. I counted eight. I dug back into the box feeling for another dreadful piece of paper. I found no other images. I examined the sides and top of the box and still found nothing worth investigating. I lifted the box in the air to check the very last place for a mystery. Underneath the box was a small photo taped to the bottom by the cheap cloudy tape we bought when we first moved. I dropped the box onto the ground once my eyes had focused. There was a photo of me sleeping in my bed with my favorite stuffed animal named Buttons. Buttons was a stuffed white rabbit my mother had given me before I could form the memory of her presence. Both Buttons and I had black X’s over our eyes. I tore the picture off to check the back once again. Written in black marker with the same unnecessary curve at the end of the S, the image said “Salone will always be my little girl.” Before I could process the words I was reading, Pop’s began banging on the front door.
