Boxes

Coat hangers swung back and forth, clanging up against each other as they swayed from the quick gust of wind that the door had produced as it was flung open. Most of the hangers were bare, but a handful had garments still hanging upon them, crisp and pressed. Among them were a woman's blouse, pink with frilly wrists at the end of the sleeves, a black leather jacket, and two scarves: one silver and the other a light indigo. A long time ago more clothes hung open the hangers, but for now only four of them felt the warmth of material against their skeleton.1

It was intended to be a guest room and once upon a time it had been. However, it was now just a storage space. Boxes and furniture that had no place in the rest of the home was scattered here. It was a treasure for lost keepsakes. The door opened slightly, a man walked in, his dark hair present with gray and whiskers growing rough on his face. Behind him was a younger version of the man, about fifteen years old.2

"Why are we cleaning this again? Isn't it better to just shove the junk into this room?" the boy asked, a tired expression on his face and his hands crammed deep into his pockets.3

"I told you, son," the man snapped impatiently, "since we're moving and your mother is holding a garage sale, we need to get rid of most of the items here. We'll also be able to make some extra cash on the side?" 4

"Yeah," the boy mumbled and sat down in the middle of the floor. Boxes seemed to tower and twist up to the ceiling and go on for miles, even if it was only a few square feet. "We have to organize all of this?" he complained.5

"That's why I woke you up early!" his father grinned, so we can get an early start. 6

"Oh joy," the boy muttered as he rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Why don't you get Elle to do this?"7

"Because I need a man for this job," his father winked. In actuality, he hadn't seen his son for a while, he was always out at night with his girlfriend or his friends. He missed his kid and now he had an excuse to spend the day with him, even if it was doing chores.8

A few hours went on with grumbles and complaints arising from the teenage boy. The father managed to get a lot of sorting done and objects placed in boxes, but his son took his time looking at everything and had only finished sorting two boxes by the time lunch came around. 9

The boy's eyes flickered to a closet in the back of the room, once covered by boxes, but now moved aside by his father's work. His father had left to grab sandwiches from the kitchen and the boy trudged his way through the mess to swing open the door. The boy groaned when he saw more boxes aligning the bottom and the top of the closet. 'Just more work to be finished!' he thought and stressed out at the idea. However, what was in the closet was more astonishing to him, as only four pieces of clothing actually hung in the closet. 10

He picked up the jacket, it was a man's jacket, bulky, leather, and black. He smiled and slipped it on and pushed his hands inside the pockets. His fingers wrapped around a rectangular box, a small slip of paper, and something that felt almost like paper and plastic. He took all three things out and examined them in his hand. A pack of cigarettes, a slip of matches, and a picture. The picture was folded and creased, as well as faded. However, present on it was his father when he was younger and a pretty, red-lipped, dark haired woman who was not his mother enjoying themselves in front of a ferris wheel, the night sky sparkled with stars in the background.11

"What are you doing, Sam?" 12

The boy spun around to face his father standing behind him, holding a plate full of sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade. 13

"I found this in the closet," the boy muttered and places his findings on a nearby box. 14

His father followed suit, placing the food and drink on a box and kneeling down to inspect what his son had found. He turned them around in his hands and traced the picture of him and the girl with his finger. 15

"What's the story?" his son inquired.16

"It was a long time ago, I was only a few years older than you," the father started off.17

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"Who comes to these things anyway? What a bust." At seventeen he was tall and slightly muscular. Whisps of black hair hung in his eyes, his jeans clung his legs, and a dark jacket around his shoulders. Hanging partially in his mouth was a cigarette, billows of smoke flooded up to the heavens and he threw a pink and yellow swirled rubber ball into the air matching the smoke's height. 19

In the air rang the happy melodies of a carousel and a shouts and giggles. "I hate fairs. They are so pointless."20

"Can you try to have fun without alcohol sometime, Mike? Maybe you would see life is a lot more than a huge party," the boy next to him said, cupping his hand over a cigarette between his lips and lighting it gracefully with a match. His friend's hair was muddy blond, spiked. He had on a letterman's jacket and baggy jeans, blue eyes pierced the crowd. "This is like our last senior year get-together. You should at least act like you're having a blast."21

"Whatever," the boy, Mike replied. "I was never fond of 'senior nights'. Or school for that matter."22

"You are now," his friend said, "now come on, we have to find Caleb and Bobby. Get some cotton candy or something."23

"Didn't they say they were by the ferris wheel?" Mike muttered. He let out a deep sight of frustration, not pleased with having to spend a Saturday night at a poor excuse for a carnival. Everyone else seemed to enjoy themselves, but he found it difficult.24

He trudged on, following his friend through the crowds of people. Blinking lights and the fluttering of game sounds went off as people yelled excitedly. It was an epileptic's worst nightmare.25

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"Take a picture with me!" Mike spun around as he felt hands tightly grip the back of his leather jacket and pull him away from his friend, who turned around himself at the voice. 27

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It was a girl. She had soft, pretty dark brown hair that cascaded gracefully down her shoulders, perfectly kept and red painted lips that burned brightly against her milky white skin. Mike had never seen her before, but he didn't have to, he already loved her.29

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"Look," she laughed, showing white teeth, "so this is not weird. My name is Jeannie. I want a picture with you."31

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