Rock

 I pulled down the attic opening, unfolding the creaky, old stairs before ascending into the darkness. I stood on the top step in complete darkness, feeling the space around me for the light cord - why didn't I bring a flashlight? The dark space illuminates as I pull the cord. Remnants of a life lived cover the attic space - Christmas trees, Halloween decorations, old shelving, vacuum cleaner, suitcases and one particular case that house old memories. With mom gone to the nursing home, everything needed to be cleared out. I grabbed the familiar blue old sewing box by it's clear handle and dropped it through the opening to the hallway floor below, gently descending the stairs.

I lean against the wall and flip the latch, revealing stacks of papers and other keepsakes. I leaf through the papers, creations from my school days - there is the writing exercises from third grade, wow my handwriting was legible back then. There is a stack of mother's day and other holiday cards which I always signed with my full name - weird. I shuffle through the old report cards and progress reports - always A's with the teachers saying I am a quiet student who is a blessing to have in class. Why didn't anybody realize a kid should not be that good? I shudder remembering how mom always patted me on the head, calling me an old soul and her rock. The grades plummet here and there in eleventh grade, ah yes I remember vividly realizing or thinking I could do anything I wanted, when really I just wanted the attention yet nobody ever noticed. My heart rate increases as the waves of panic wash over me. I want to run, but there is so much work to do and I can't let her down.