Teresa: I was sitting in my mom's attic, sorting through her endless belongings. Boxes and boxes of useless things. And I thought I was a packrat. I made my way over to a shelf that was entirely occupied with shoe boxes. My mum always had this thing where she loved keeping shoe boxes for storage. I picked up a Nike one, there was a label on it and in my mum's handwriting was written: Crafts. I opened the lid and found loads of the little crafts my mum helped me do when I was little. Some building tears clouded my vision as I picked up an unknown creation made souly of posicle sticks. I remembered showing it to my mum, telling her that is was my special project. I laughed to myself, knowing that the "special creation" I had made years ago was just a mass of gluey popsicle sticks. I set the box aside, for the trash. Some things had to go, I didn't have room for all this in my tiny little flat. I picked up the next box, it was labeled: Junk. The label and the handwritting surprised me, my dad had written it. Why would my mum keep something of his? I wondered. I tossed the lid aside and peered into the box. Looked like a bunch of old papers to me. Legal mumbo jumbo. Maybe my mum kept his insurance papers and stuff to get back at him? Wouldn't surprise me, she hid his trophies for about 2 years. I picked up the first thing I saw, but I quickly threw down the boring contract when I saw a picture of me under it. That was just like my dad, throwing in a picture of me, like proof of property or something. I sighed as I picked it up. I realized it had been ripped down the middle. You could see me, at the small age of about 2 and half of my dad. I shook my head, my parents fought loads, but was ripping pictures really necessary? I heard a muffled ringing. I dropped the picture back where I found it and replaced the lid. Then I went on a hunt for my ringing mobile. When I finally found it I was surpised the person hadn't hung up already. "Hello?" I frowned at the greasy voiced that replied, "Hello Hello Teresa" It was one of my bosses. He hated me. If it wasn't for his boss, I'd have lost my job years ago. "Yes Jimmy?" I asked icely. "I still don't see why you get time off. Rob's such a softtie, giving you all these days off" Rob was the boss above him, the one with a heart. "The reason I get the time off is because of my mother's passing Jimmy" I said thourgh gritted teeth, "And he's not just giving it too me. The first few days were mourning days, now I'm taking from my vacation time" I could almost see him waving my explanation away, as if it meant nothing, "Yeah, whatever" I clutched my phone, "What do you want?" I asked angrily. "Well I just wanted to give you a heads up, you should pack your bags." "What?" I heard his annoying cackle on the other line. "You'll need to come in tomorrow. No more mourning days. We'll discuss this then" I heard a click and I furiously jabbed at the off button on my phone. What the hell was his problem? I sat down on a nearby box and thought about the call, pack your bags?
Chapter Two... |