The Glaring - End of Chapter Five

As I clomped up Becca’s front stairs, toting my backpack and sleeping bag, I screwed up my face and hoped hard that the room where I saw the black shadow wasn’t hers.  When I dumped my stuff on her floor and looked out the window, even in the dark, I knew it was. I focused all my energy on arranging my features in a normal human expression and scanned the room.  No weirdness.  Just lots of cool touches that seemed unique and very Becca.  For instance, hanging over the bed was a big square piece of fabric with a blue and teal design that reminded me of a peacock tail made of flowers.

“Cool tapestry,” Chris said, dropping her things in front of a metal desk that looked like one a teacher might have in the front of a classroom.

“It’s a mandala.  Sanskrit for circle.  Mama says they bring peace and balance.  Sounds kooky, but either way it’s good for covering holes.  Moving so much, I never know what my next bedroom will look like, but luckily this one only needed fresh paint and a coat of poly on the floor.”  She braced her butt on the edge of the bed and shoved it against a wall.   “This should be enough space for us all.”

Ellen tossed her junk on Becca’s bed and flopped next to her.  “I love the color.”

Becca smiled a kind of sad half-smile.  “I always choose the same one—ice green.  I don’t know why it’s called that when it’s actually blue.”  Shrugging, she toed off her shoes.  “Living in new places all the time can be a little disorienting, I guess?  Unnerving?”

I swallowed hard and tried to sound casual.  “Is this house particularly unnerving?”

“I guess not.”  She scrunched her nose and thought for a second.  “I mean old houses always make noises and stuff.  Somehow lying in bed and looking at the same walls as I had in my last room makes me feel more like I’m at home.”

“I get that,” Andi said.  “Just think how many people have slept right here.”  She sprawled in a papasan chair with a furry cushion and petted it.  “Nice.  Feels like a hug from a llama.”

I hovered by the window, ducking so as not to smash my head on the slanty walls.  That bad-turkey-sandwich feeling blurbled in my stomach.  I could hear Becca’s mom on the phone downstairs ordering pizza.  Maybe food would help.

Becca vaulted from the bed and yanked open a little low door, tucked under a slanting wall.  The bottom scraped across the floor, bumping the rag rug, and sticking.   She crawled halfway inside and came out with an army-looking sleeping bag.

Chris picked up an old, bulky camera from the desk and glanced at the door.  “Is that your only closet?”

Becca shoved it closed and unrolled the sleeping bag.  “Yup.  Mama calls it a knee attic.  She says they’re super common in capes on account of the steep roofs.  When the builders put in walls upstairs, little pockets of space were trapped all over.”

“This house would be awesome for hide and seek,” I said.

“You have no idea.”  Becca’s eyes glinted. “Actually, I have something I’ve been dying to show you guys.”   She sprang up and almost skipped across the room.  Glancing over one shoulder, she beckoned.  

We followed her onto the landing, past the entrance to a tiny bathroom and into a room that was the mirror image of hers, except the walls and ceiling were covered in blue floral wallpaper.  

She pointed to a section of wall beneath the slanted roof, where the wallpaper was mostly scraped away, leaving spots of yellowish glue. “When we started stripping the wallpaper in here, we realized someone papered over the door to the knee attic.  Inside, we found all kinds of stuff.”  She crossed to a door just like the one in her room, but unpainted and older looking somehow.  It didn’t have a knob, and she slid her fingers into the crack below and pried it open.  The hinges squealed and the door flung wide to reveal the short end of a steamer trunk, completely filling the doorway.  It was covered in dark leather with metal bands across the top and sides.  Becca took hold of the handle.  “Help me pull it out.”

Chris grabbed one corner.  “Who in their right mind would wallpaper over a closet?”

I grabbed the other.  “Who wouldn’t empty the attic first?”  The leather was dry and flaky, and black bits came off on my fingers.  We made eye contact and heaved.  For how large it was, the trunk slid out easily.  Whatever it contained couldn’t have been too heavy.  We stood in a circle, just staring at it.  The thing was huge—I’d guess three feet by two feet or so, and even more imposing from the front.   The bare bulb on the ceiling flickered, and I jumped. 

Chris poked my side.  “Scaredy cat.”  She glanced at Becca.  “Have you opened it?”

Becca shook her head, and the frizzy hair halo wavered.  “I thought we could do it together.”

A smile cracked Chris’s cheeks.  “Cool.”

My heart beat a little faster.  I don’t know why.  The trunk was too light to contain a body.  Too light even for treasure.  

Becca took a deep enough breath that her elbow bumped mine.  She blew it out, knelt in front of the chest, and put a thumb on each latch.  Pressing hard enough that the metal dug into her thumb pads and made them turn white, she flipped open first one and then the other.  Coming high onto her knees, she took hold of the lid and shoved.

The trunk flew open like it had been waiting a hundred years for someone to come along.  Like it wanted to be opened.  The smell of mothballs wafted from a layer of yellow, disintegrating tissue.  We stood back and let Becca do the honors.  Beneath the paper was a shallow tray filled with what looked like women’s underthings, stockings, and gloves.  They were silky and less discolored than I would have predicted for how old they looked.  Becca lifted the tray and a cloud of dresses big enough to fuel a princess fantasy for decades billowed as if the trunk took a breath.   

“Ya’ll…” With trembly fingers, Becca removed a pink meringue of a frock with mountains of netting and a beaded satin bodice.  When she held it up and shimmied back and forth, it made a sound like a whisper.  

Chris pulled out a sapphire velvet gown that unspooled like a waterfall and puddled at her feet.  She too held it against herself and was instantly so stunningly beautiful I couldn’t speak.  

“You look like a movie star,” Ellen breathed.  “We need to take a picture.”

“Run grab that camera from my desk.”  Becca struck a dramatic pose.  “The old polaroid.  This’ll be fun!”

The silky, green evening gown was the same color as my eyes.  I brushed my fingers against my thighs and using only my fingertips, lifted it.  The fabric was cool and slick.  The sleeves were full and drapey, and the bottom fanned out like a mermaid tail.  It gave off the faintest scent of roses, like the talcum powder my grammie wore to church.  

Andi rooted carefully until she found a black dress.  It had a vee neck and gold trim on the sleeves and around the waist in a design that looked Egyptian.  “I would wear dresses if they looked like this.”  She made a sort of hopping twirl and caught her foot on the corner of the tray. 

She bumped into Becca who bumped into Chris, and we all burst out laughing at the exact moment Ellen shouted, “Say cheese!”

The flash was blinding.  Literally.  I could barely see for about three minutes.  The camera made this crazy whirring sound and spat out a small, white-bordered photo. 

Ellen went to grab the picture, but Becca stopped her.  “Hold it by the edge like this.”  She pinched it between her thumb and index finger and waved it like a fan.  “The photo takes a couple minutes to develop and dry.”

Andi laid the black dress over Ellen’s shoulder and extended her hand for the camera.  She turned it over, examining it carefully.  “This thing is so cool.  Everybody hold up a dress.”

We gathered around the trunk, posing and smiling big goofy smiles.  Every gown was more spectacular than the one before.  Sequins sparkled, and satin shimmered, and I totally forgot the icky feeling in my belly.  When the film ran out, we clustered around the pictures on the floor.  Since it was now totally dark outside, and the only light came from the overhead bulb and the solar flare flash, the images were grainy and dim.  

With careful fingers, I picked up the last picture.  It turned from black to gray to color, and the faces resolved like an invisible hand painted them while I watched.

Andi plopped in front of the tray of lingerie and pulled out a silky girdle type thing that was sort of a bra top and shorts all stuck together.  It had ridges like girders on a bridge and clips dangling from the bottom hem.  She regarded it from several angles.  “I don’t even understand this garment.”

Chris scowled.  “Down with the patriarchy, am I right?”

“I don’t know…did men actually force women to wear this stuff?  Or did they choose?” Becca squatted beside Andi and slipped on a shimmery glove.  “I mean, I sort of like it.”

Ellen reached over my shoulder and snatched the first photo of the evening.  “I love this!  The first picture of all five of us.  We look so happy.”

I glanced at the pic.  Having had the most time to develop, the image was well-resolved, and the photo was pretty fantastic.  The dresses looked like costumes from an old-timey play, and because we were laughing, our smiles were genuine.  All five of us.  

All five…?  

A cold, clammy hand settled on the base of my throat.  Not squeezing but just sort of lying there like a dead fish.  “Wait a second,” I said.  “It can’t be all of us.”

Ellen knelt and pointed out each of us one by one.  “Yeah, look—you, Becca, Chris, Andi, and me behind the trunk.”

The room got super still.  The smell of mothballs hung in the musty air.  I heard Becca swallow and glanced over at her.

Her face was as pale as the glove on her hand.  “But Ellen…you took the picture.” 

Ellen shook her head and forced a laugh.  “No that’s…I mean…” She peered closely at the photo.  “One, two, three…” Her voice died, and she looked up, her bug-eyed gaze traveling from one of us to the other.  Then she dropped the photo like it was on fire.