Grandmother's Attic

There was a quaint antique thrift store across the street from my house which was located on the corners of Quinn and Fremont. The store itself was run by an elderly widow in her late 80’s. She was a small, frail woman with paper-thin skin and round, sapphire blue eyes. Her spectacles hung around her neck on a golden chain, and her feet shuffled whenever she walked. The first time I stepped foot in the store, I was greeted by the sound of a small bell over the door, signaling my arrival. The second thing that greeted me was the smell of musty clothing. The smell reminded me of my grandmother’s cottage attic by the sea. 

The smell took me back to “that day”. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was overcast, and a slight mist hung in the air. I remember pulling up to the cottage and stepping out of my car, which used to be my grandfathers car before he died. It was a sleek red station wagon. I remember rattling the old skeleton key into the lock and pushing the creaking door open. Being inside the cottage instantly reminded me of my grandmother. Memories of her fogged my brain as I wearily made my way up to the attic. The rest of the house was cleaned out and emptied by now with the exception of the attic. Since I lived closest to the cottage,  I was chosen to weed through all of her things. When I got to the attic, the smell of her, mixed with the sea, her old books, and clothing overwhelmed me and I instantly broke down. This was the smell I smelled that first day when I stepped into the store.

 The final greeting came from the woman herself. I heard her shuffling along  from behind her desk to help whatever weary soul had wandered into her store. When she saw me, her face instantly lit up with happiness. This store now held many of my grandmother’s clothes, books, and nicknacks. She eagerly rushed me into the back room and started making a pot of tea. We laughed and talked for an hour or so. When the clock struck 3:00, I knew it was time to make my departure. Before I left, she handed me a coat. Not just any coat, but a beautiful black coat with a furry mink collar. I thanked her, put it on, and walked back across the deserted street to my house. The street lights glowed dimly as it was already starting to grow dark out. I slowly opened the door to my house and was greeted by my scraggly gray cat, Bella. She twirled around my legs as I threw my coat lazily on the back of one of the armchairs in my small living room. I followed her into the kitchen where her food bowl sat empty, and scooped out a plentiful amount of dry food to refill it. As she started to nibble on her food, I began preparing my dinner. As I was about to sit down and start eating, I heard a slight scratching noise. I looked over to see Bella scratching on the new coat I just been given. I rushed over and pulled her away,  but not before the coat fell to the floor. As the coat fell to the floor, I noticed a small slip of paper slip from one of the pockets. I reached down to pick it up as soon as I saw the handwriting, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I could barely read the note as tears welled up in my eyes. By the time I finished reading, I was a terrible wreck; sitting on the floor sobbing, with tears rolling down my cheeks.My trembling hands held a note from my grandmother, addressed to me. I must have given the coat to the store as I was cleaning out her attic. I wondered if the store owner found the note and gave me the coat hoping I’d find the special surprise in the pocket? I reread the note over, remembering the way her voice sounded, the way her warm hugs felt and how it felt to be held in those warm hugs, the way she would reassure me everything would be OK. She was my everything, and with a blink of an eye, she was gone. Just like that. I would give anything to just spend one more day with her. Share one more story. Receive one more hug. Share one more laugh and one more smile. One more time.