I Love You

In the Muller home, there was a big attic. The ceiling was low, and the windows had thick panes; the walls and floors were of heavy timber and deeply cluttered with objects collected throughout the years.

As spring arrived, Tom decided to finally clean it out.

In most homes, the attic is a place to store junk and forget about it. And that's exactly what happened in the case of his grandmother's dusty old attic.

So, what did Tom decide to do?

He made a decision at 3 A.M the night before to skip school without telling anyone and pull out brooms, dusters, and other pieces of his cleaning arsenal and remove all the unless content of his attic.

Why would he do that?

His current minimalist mid-life crisis was to blame.

He slowly climbed the wooden ladder after he made sure everyone in the house had gone out. His father went off to work and his brother at school. His mother was nowhere in sight.

The only company he had was his one-eyed ginger cat, Fred.

Chairs on top of chairs. Piles of clothes left on the right corner. And dozens of dozens of boxes. The once beautiful attic where he spent most of his childhood memories hiding in while playing hide-and-seek was now cluttered with stuff.

It was a hoarder's paradise.

Tom sighed and Fred continued walking ahead of him to trip him. "I could've not taken you in 2 years ago, y'know." He told the cat before trying to walk around him.

"I'm talking to a cat." He said. "Now, I'm the crazy one."

Tom began by sitting beside the cloth pile and sorting each one out while singing along to Sk8er Boi.

Polo shirt.

Old skirt.

Another Polo shirt.

A green blouse with dramatic shoulder pads.

Yet another Polo short with the collar up.

That was the perfect 80s closet. If only he had some leather insight.

Tom laughed at that thought. He was definitely going to bug his parents about their terrible style during their youth.

And as if the attic was reading his mind, his eyes found a piece of old leather lying on top of something under all the smelly pile of clothes.

The worn-out jacket didn't look like it was from the 80, but from an era before that.

Tom picked it up and began scanning it for any possible tags.

Nothing was on it. No designer name, nor was the place of manufacturing.

Odd.

Tom continued to look for anything on it until he felt a solid thing from inside.

'Pockets!' He thought.

He searched the pockets, only to find a small wooden box. A keepsake that felt older than the house he lived in.

There was no lock, he just opened the box without a second thought.

The smile on his face slowly vanished into a bored out glare. "A locket?" He scoffed. "Seriously?"

The golden antique didn't look rusty at all. It shone at the light of the sun that barely covered half the attic.

Tom's fingers crept on the sides and opened the little thing.

There was nothing there.

It was blank.

"Meow!" Fred sat on Tom's right side.

"I know." He said. "Disappointment." He hissed.

And then, a small light from withing the locket gleamed. Tom looked down at the tiny thing.

(A. 2Y)

(D. in 2Y)

'What?' Tom raised an eyebrow. It wasn't there before... before he pointed it at Fred.

Did it have a secret meaning?

2?

2?

He found Fred 2 years ago in a dumpster! That was it!

A must stand for 'Age'.

'If that was so, then D. stood for... Death.' He thought. 'Does this locket show the lifespan of a living creature? Is Fred going to die in 2 years?'

It appeared right after he pointed it at Fred. That must have meant something.

Tom stood up and ran across the attic. He didn't know where he was going and ended up slamming multiple boxes to the ground.

Fred ran up to follow him but constant mingling caused Tom to lose his balance after knocking his foot against the Ginger cat.

His body slapped down violently against the wooden panels. He screamed in pain for a moment. Meanwhile, the item in his hands rolled around before finally placing itself on one spot.

Tom got up on his feet and began searching for the locket. It had proven to be a challenging task to find anything in the dusty attic.

He looked down to find it on a piece of paper.

It was a picture of his grandmother, Mary Anne.

(B. 07.04.1931)

(D. 12.01.2004)

The teenager gazed at the locket in disbelief and at some point, he began laughing.

"Who's up there!" He heard the voice of his mother scream.

'I. Am. Dead.' He thought.

He stood in his place and waited for the moment his mother barged into the attic holding a gun and pointing it at him.

"Thomas Muller!" She screamed after realizing it was her son. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at school!"

Tom gave her a smile, showing her all his teeth. "I thought I might, like, help out in cleaning." He hoped that was enough.

His mother put down the weapon in her hands. "Get your bag. I'm driving you to school."

"But... It's, like, too late."

"Bag. Car. Now"

There was no use arguing with his mother at that point. He sighed and walked out of the attic. The sound of his mother's phone ringing looped his memory.

"I'll be ready in 10 minutes."

"5."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Tom made his way to his room and got ready. He clutched onto that locket as it was apart of him and a single thought hit him.

"Mom!" He called out as he searched for her. "Mom!"

"What?" She asked angrily.

(A. 51Y)

(D. in 3Y)

Tom stopped at his tracks. 3 years. She only had 3 more years. "Tom. Thomas Muller, stop playing tricks on me! Get yourself in the car this instant!"

Her phone rang yet again and she chose not to answer, again.

Tom took a deep breath. He slowly walked up to her.

"Who knows if you even attended school at all this week! How could you-"

She was cut by her son wrapping his arms around her. The world around him melted away as he embraced his mother, not wanting the moment to end.

That hug could never be long enough for Tom. In his mother's presence, he was safe and all his worried disappeared. And the thought of losing her tore his ability to speak and left him biting his nails with fear.

"Do you think I'm joking here?"

That only made him hug her harder. He was sniffling into her sleeves and a pair of tears raced down his cheeks. He sobbed unceasingly, hands clutching at her jacket.

She held him in silence, rocking him slowly as his tears soaked her chest until he finally pulled away.

"Tom?" Her tone changed completely after the outburst of emotions made by her son. "Tom, is everything alright? Talk to me."

She placed her hands on his cheeks and wiped away his tears. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I-I..." He took a deep breath. "I love you, Mom." He faked a smile while he twisted the locket in his hands.

She took a closer look at what he had. "Oh, you found your Grandmother's old necklace."

"You've seen it before?"

"Yeah, she didn't go anywhere without it. Until one day, she forgot to take it with her and... the accident, you know."

The only time his Grandmother didn't have it on with her was the last day of her life. Could she have been avoiding death using this all that time?

'Maybe, just maybe...' He thought, looking at his mother.

He twisted the locket before reading it one last time.

(A. 14)

(D. in 27M)

Tom froze. He looked up to see what he was pointing out.

'No, please no.'

He stared at the picture frame of his little bother's 7th birthday. "Max." He muttered.

Tom felt a pain in his abdomen. His breathing became more rapid, more shallow.

"Mom! Where's Max?"

"At school." She answered. "Where you're also supposed to be."

His hands began shaking. "Mom-"

"Tom, what is going on with you?"

The ringtone of her phone was heard all around the room. This time she finally took it out of her pocket and answered the caller.

"Yes, Max!" Her words were cut short and she didn't let out any other sound.

"Mom, what's wrong? Mom!" He took the phone from her. "Max."

Tom could feel his brother's trembling breath. "Max, where are you?"

"T-T-The bath-r-room."

"What's going one?"

"S-Something's happened." He sniffed. "There's a shoot-ter on c-c-ampus. Liam g-got... He got shot."

Tom could hear Max barely able to gulp. "Tell Mom and Dad I love them."

"Max."

"I love you."