Junk Drawer Baby

The mysterious picture with the scribbled date on the back was found during one of my many junk drawer treasure hunts. I think every house has a drawer like that. The one place where people toss odds and ends inside, soon to be forgotten. In our house that bottom drawer was always hard to open. A sticky kind of drawer that took lots of jiggling, wiggling, with two hands and a foot on the cupboard for leverage type of pulling to get it to budge an inch. When it finally gave way, the force would send me flying on my rear end with a thump! The overstuffed contents always came tumbling out onto my lap. I loved taking inventory of the stash as if it were a hidden treasure. Colored pencils, rubber bands, paper clips, loose change, and if I was really lucky maybe some marbles. Those were my favorite things to find. One day I got a glimpse of a black square in the very back. The drawer was particularly stubborn that day and only opened a quarter way. So, I had to contort my little arm to reach it. Luckily, it was flexible and twisted with my hand. When I flipped the black square over, I then realized it was a polaroid picture. That was the first day I saw him.

The most beautiful baby boy I ever laid eyes on. It was a black and white picture, but I imagined him with rosy cheeks. With cheeks as full as his were, they had to be. He slumbered so sweetly on a pillow that looked like satin. A cute tendril of hair curled neatly over his smooth forehead. Striped overall bibs and a dark long sleeved shirt covered the top of him as a satin blanket covered the rest. His chubby little hand clutched a stuffed giraffe to his chest as he peacefully slept. The back of the photo offered no clue to who the child was. Only a date was scribbled in fading black ink- 11/01/1961. I wondered who he was and why such a beautiful picture was forgotten in a drawer. I became obsessed with rummaging for more clues. I found myself drawn to the kitchen floor by the counter where that sticky drawer is tucked next to the spice cabinet. The picture called to me. While I ate dinner with my parents, the baby in the junk drawer cried for me.  

I was a latch key kid so I had plenty of time to investigate that drawer and study its contents completely. For months I did and couldn’t find anything to help. I felt bad for the junk drawer baby. I wanted to take him to my room but for some reason it seemed wrong. The picture was in the drawer for a reason but why? I decided it didn’t matter. I would visit him whenever I could sneak away. When I looked at the picture, I wondered where the boy was at that very moment. By the date on the photo, he would be at least eleven years older than me. I wondered if he knew about me. I would tell him about my day. Sometimes I would read to him. One day I came home from school and the drawer was empty!! My heart fell to the floor until I realized the junk drawer was only moved. It was now the drawer under the silverware. Smaller. Easier to open. The drawer was moved but had ALL of its contents been moved? In a panic. I dumped the newly organized drawer on the floor. Relief washed over me when I saw the picture turned upside down laying at my feet. I decided right then and there, he was safer under my pillow. I tucked the picture inside my shirt and rushed him upstairs where he would be much safer.  

The sleeping baby would be safe in my underwear drawer, I decided. I’m not sure why I felt like I needed to hide him. Maybe because I found him in a drawer with forgotten junk. At least in my dresser he got a top drawer and I placed my favorite stuffed bear alongside him. I covered him with my best socks. In my mind it was still better than being shoved under paperclips, colored pencils and rubber bands. I slept that night better than I had in months. The days that followed were a blur. Nothing changed except for now I talked to my dresser baby. He was safe and that is all that mattered. Since the baby boy did not cry from the junk drawer during dinner anymore, I noticed the silence. My parents did not speak to each other like they normally did. My father looked sad. Deep lines etched his face and it was the first time I thought he looked old. That night, late, I heard him rummaging through the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen. I laid awake and instantly knew what he was looking for. My dad was the reason why the baby was in the junk drawer and now he knew the picture was gone.  

I crept down the steps, hugging the picture to my chest and peeked into the dimly lit room. My dad sat on the floor in the disheveled kitchen, his face in his hands, and his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. I never saw my dad cry before and seeing this brought tears to my own eyes. I did this.  I made my dad cry.

I held the picture out and in a small, shaky voice, whispered, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

My father stared at me for a moment with tears streaming down his face and then he opened his arms inviting me in. I ran to him, collapsing into his big bear hug. We both cried in a tight embrace for several quiet moments. Finally, he took the picture and held it up so we both could see.  

“Who is that?” I finally asked my throat felt tight.  

He cleared his throat and his voice sounded thick, “That is your older brother.”

At first, I was confused. I had no older brother. I then realized the sleeping baby, I spent months staring at, was in a coffin. My mom was so grief stricken the only way she could deal with it was to erase him. She felt so much guilt over his death that she never wanted his name mentioned again. So, my brother became a secret in the junk drawer. My dad would sneak away at night to grieve for him. When the picture disappeared, he blamed my mom. He thought she threw it away when she cleaned out the drawer. My brother died two days before his first birthday, so they had birthday presents he would never see. My mom had all of his things taken away. My dad only had this picture of my sweet brother. His death was indeed tragic and my mom always blamed herself. They did not have much money back then. The sides of the crib kept falling. My dad tied them up with rope. My mom didn’t hear the baby wake during a nap and he played with the rope on his crib. She found him hanging in his bed. As a child it was hard to hear about the death of my brother. It was the only time my dad ever spoke of him. I was glad to give his secret back. My brother was not a piece of forgotten junk in a drawer but truly a hidden treasure.  

The next day the junk drawers were empty and the picture disappeared forever. Never again was his name uttered, until today. I’m an adult now. My dad is laid to rest, my brother at his feet. I often think of that picture and wish I could hold it just one more time. The image will always be a part of me. Forever, I will cherish the day I met my big brother, John Russel.  John Russel. John Russel.