The Wooden Submarine

The gentle movement of air created as the broom held by Hue George swayed back and forth was echoed throughout the dusty attic. The pure yellow rays of a bright sun intruded like a flame through the singular window, only to be blocked by his body. The melody of the broom and the soothing heat of the sun had put Hue in a trance, as the broom barely touched the floor swaying back and forth, back and forth. It wasn't that he was necessarily thinking of anything important in this trance. In fact quite the opposite. His mind was empty at the moment as he concentrated on the sounds of the attic. All of course until he realized he was thinking of nothing and started thinking of something. The broom once more hit the floor instead of just hovering over it and he noticed the spot where he had been standing in a trance was thoroughly rid of dust. As he looked around the attic he realized his task was nearly done. The attic itself wasn't exactly overbearing, it was certainly used, one could say as boxes on top of boxes lay thrown about in random nooks of unorganized silent chaos. Hue had told himself when he moved his family of one wife and one child to the suburbs of Ithaca New York that he would eventually sort through the mess of boxes he laid in the attic that had previously occupied the random nooks of his former attic. It had finally taken two years and harsh commands from the true head of the house, his wife Jessica, in order for him to finally with broom and dustpan in hand march up that ladder to his war of procrastination.

“Hue and Jessica, what an odd pair of names.” Hue thought.

Hue had met Jessica on July 26th or at least that was the day Jessica said they had met. He had gone to the local library during the first week of his arrival in Amelia Ohio, said kind words to the gorgeous woman he had fallen in love with immediately, and married that same woman two years later, in Amelia Ohio. It only took another year for them to have their first born Hercule, and another 9 years for it to be the present, give or take a few months.

During his recollection of past Hue had found himself unknowinglly moved towards one of the boxes, cascaded in the sunlight nearest to the trap door that contained the ladder to and fro the main compartments of the house that didn't include the attic. It's not that the box was outwardly special. It had no special markings to signify it would be special. It was just the box closest to Hue. Yet the box was very much special. As Hue without purpose reached into the box, that special box with no special markings, he touched something that contained the textile markings of his childhood. He didn’t know what it was, all he knew was of its familiarity.

As he dug further in the box grasping the thing that frustratingly evaded his memory, he tugged on it as the object created a void immediately filled back in with the surrounding items. The object surprised Hue. It was a simple wooden submarine. It took a few seconds for him to recognize the object which ashamed Hue because the wooden submarine was a toy his father gave him, the first and only toy given to him by his father.

In order to explain how this wooden submarine came to be the first and only toy given to him by his father; one must know about Hue George's father: Henry George. Hue had been born to Henry George and Mary George, former surname of Berlin, in the desolate forests of backwoods Illinoi. So backwoods in fact it can not be identified by any town in Illinoi and therefore can only be referred to as simply: backwoods of Illinoi. Henry George was a tough burly man of which accompanied his deep booming voice. Accustomed to the nature of his terrain, Henry was an expert huntsman seeing as his family had no farm and his land was something inherited to the men of the surname George for years. Henry had installed a harsh and independent set of morales on his children Hue and Herbert George. Morales reflective of Henry's own upbringing. Henry had taught the children how to shoot, how to skin, and dress game by the age of seven. Henry had taught the children by eight how to fight with fists and by nine how to fight with knives. Like most skills taught by Henry, Herbert took eagerness to these lessons which were mostly lost on the bookish Hue. However on the premise of gift giving there was no morale or value to explain a proposed absence. In a poor family where all was begot from the land there was just no need. Of course Hues and Herberts birthdays were celebrated naturally as well as Christmas and Pentecost, just without the absence of gifts which Neither Hue or Herbert minded. They were content with their lives in the backwoods of Illinoi.

This absence was what made such a gift so special. Henry had carved the wooden submarine from a block of wood in their woodworking workshop. Hue remembered himself glued to the television most days after his work, watching the intricacies of marine life. His interest in the ocean although still remained a hobby, only accumulated to just that of a hobby. The joy and love that came with the toy was not lost on Hue even till long after his father's passing as a tear rolled down his dust covered face.

“Now here it lay in this lonely attic.” Hue thought.

At this point the sun had vanished and the dusk sky had risen. As Hue realized he must have spent hours staring at this little toy he placed it back in the box, back under the items that laid upon it, wiped his cheek and left climbing down the ladder from which he came.

The light of the sun once again shown through the attic window as Hue knelt in front of the box containing the wooden submarine. His perplexity about the toy wasn’t out of dislike for his father. In fact he loved him and he was sure his father loved him as well. An explanation for their wavering relationship was lossed on Hue. He had always known Herbert was the closer of the two to their father but that wasn't mysterious, Herbert was the most like their father. So much so that after 911 Herbert had enlisted in the marines while Hue stayed in his new home of Amelia Ohio. Hue had made sure to see Herbert before he left. They exchanged words and drank through the night till morning exchanging goodbyes before Herbert's death a year later. Hue had gone back to Illinoi, to his backwoods home of Illinoi, and met his father for the funeral procession. Oddly enough Herbert's death did bring Hue and his father closer. Hue made a promise to call Henry on the new landline Hue was astonished to find out was installed in the home. Henry then bid his goodbye and left older and more gray. The toy perplexed Hue. He loved it and yet here it lay in this box. Taking the toy with him in his left hand he climbed down the ladder out of the attic into the main compartments of the house. He passed one room and then another until he reached his son's room, Hercule George, son of Hue George, Son of Henry George. As he entered the room, the sun's light bombarded the blue wallpaper. There in the house, in the suburbs of Ithaca New York. Hue sat besides his son, with the wooden submarine, and there that little wooden submarine would stay.

David Menchin