The Room At The Top Of The Stairs

In this house, there are not many books. No book shelves. No library cards. But upstairs to the right while searching for something is a dark dusty poorly lit room. Storage? It’s called an attic. A quick view does show old papers, furniture pieces, small piles of clothes, newspapers and knick knacks. I go through a few things. Always on alert for spiders, bugs and the unidentified something. God forbid a mouse or a rat! I gently lift a yellowing shredding window shade to let in some natural light. I look around, the floor is wooden, I study corners, filled with dust balls papers and stuff, and other corners of empty spaces and choose a small less menacing area. I place my hand upon an awkwardly shaped album. It’s an old family album. I turn the first page with a quick flip, stand back and wait for bugs to high tail it. No insects are sighted. Nothing on the initial page. I turn to the next page wait for the expected possibilities and nothing. Here I spy upon the discoloring page of an old fashion, back in the day, yesteryear photo. Interesting. I take a closer look. I am sitting in a chair I located for just this occasion. 

Who are these people? Where are they? I see young faces, a horse, a mule, a donkey. It’s one of the those. I see an old, old looking house not standing straight but leaning to one side. It looks mostly made of fading wood with a highish porch and loosely attached door. Five people standing side by side in front of an old blue and white car. Three smiling, two not. The space in front and around them is dirt, gravel and dust. One young face resembles my Aunt Lorraine. Is it her? The clothes they wear are scant and nondescript. Pants, shorts, shirts, blouses. Three women, two men. It looks like spring or possibly summer afternoon. 

I turn another page no surprises. Here looking back at me are a few baby faces. Who are they? One child sits upon an old lap. Grandma? Who? This elder looks very ancient. A wrinkled reddish brown face. A child like smile, gray hair, short and she is very petite and tiny. Her eyes are small and cheekbones high. She is round of back and don’s an old frock. A day dress of sorts. Tiny flowers throughout, belted, small collar, short sleeves, two front pockets, and stops below the knee. I learned later she is my mother’s, mother’s mother. Great grandmother Camille.  She hails from Louisiana around the Baton Rogue area. She looks of another time. A visitor from before. Her countenance and visage are otherly.  

I get a broom with the intention to tap this album well on all sides to encourage any movement right now before this treasure is carried to query Mom and Dad. I do just that. No movement. I realize most of these life forms are long gone from temporary and longer term hiding places and coverings. I feel reassured but carry the photo album away from my body with a view to drop it at any second deemed necessary. I take each step gingerly. My eyes are wide with anticipation. 

I reached the bottom of the stairs without drama. I placed the dusty treasure on the floor and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. I had the thought to get newspaper to put the album on so as not to leave marks on the couch. It didn’t take long and I was back with the protection barrier.  

I opened the photo album and this time a piece, a lock of hair was nestled in the lower left bottom corner. Hmmm….whose hair is that I wondered.? The curly black strands did not give any clues. Another question for Momma. A few more pictures and I turn the page here was an old newspaper clipping. US drops atomic bomb on Japan. Oh my goodness! i started reading the article but did not finish because it seemed too sad. I don’t like fighting, I don’t like wars. 

There was another paper clipping about Mr. Jackie Robinson him being a very good baseball player and playing for a Negro league and going into the armed forces. Something about playing with the Dodgers which was a big, big, deal. The other sad article was about President Roosevelt dying in office and Vice President Truman being sworn in. There was a lot of information about President Roosevelt’s health being poor and this and that. Sad. 

Upon my continuing investigation of this mystery album I see old men, young men. A lonely skinny dog, teenagers, kids, women and food. I see an old looking stove and funny made furniture in great states of wear. Mom and Dad are at work but boy oh boy when they get home do I have questions for them.  

I learn that one of the babies in that photo album is me. Wow, I did not recognize myself! I look very, very different. My siblings are also memorialized there. They look so cute. My Mom as a young woman, Mom is very good looking . A grandmother that died the same year I was born. My mother’s father as a young man who loves fishing and taxidermy whatever that is. Uncles with the bloom of youth upon them. Aunties, neighbors and friends. Their children are captured here as well. A few pictures Mom did not remember who the people were. Dad said that this was Mom’s side of the family. I asked about his photo album. He said he didn’t have one, but his mother has one that I could look at. I became very excited and imagined all kinds of possibilities.  

I asked my Mom and Dad did any of our relatives leave anything behind? More pictures, letters, clothes, books, jewelry, handkerchiefs, quilts or anything? No was the answer. I was very disappointed to hear this. Nothing? Not a thing. Did anyone fight in any wars? Did they travel? Who were they? What did they do? What are their stories? “Listen child, I’m tired and I am going to cook,” Mom said. Dad told me to bring the newspaper to him then leaned back in his recliner and told me to be quiet. Maybe just maybe my father’s mother has some answers for me. I can’t wait to see and hear how that will go.