Family Secrets

Family Secrets

I came down the stairs covered in sweat and dust bunnies.  Cleaning out the attic is never pleasant, but more unpleasant is when you offer yourself to your grandmother in a moment of familial guilt at the weekly Friday Night Dinner.

 There I was, sitting in at the dining room table after just consuming what some would consider a feast, but my family just considers ‘dinner’, when grandma all of a sudden mentions how she’d like to clean out the attic.  The whole family nodded their heads in agreement, all acknowledging that that would be a great idea.  What I didn’t notice is one by one everyone made excuses in order to get away from the table and out of Grandma’s line of sight.  I was obviously not prepared for this, which is why it’s the next day and I’ve found myself cleaning on a Saturday morning when I’d rather be doing anything else.

The kitchen smelled of chocolate chip pancakes; Grandma’s “I know I suckered you into this project, so I’m at least going to feed you something yummy and hope that you don’t hate me for this.”  I tried to dust myself off a little before I crossed the threshold, but I’m sure it was a futile attempt.  “Grandma,’ I said, as I walked in and sat at the table, clutching an old piece of paper in my left hand, out of her eye line. 

“Yes, dear,” she said as she flipped a pancake on the griddle.  She turned to look at me, since I paused a moment to think about what I wanted to say, rather than blurt out something accusatory and/or stupid.  She prompted me again.  “What is it you wanted?”

“I came across this in map in the attic along with your photo albums from when you and grandpa were first married.  It’s in another language.  Do you understand it?”  I hoped that posing my inquisitions in an innocent way would engage her into telling me the story without actually forcing her to do it.  At first, though, I thought I’d blown it, because she turned back toward the stove, let her head hang down a little, and stayed silent for longer than I was comfortable with.

Just as I was about to say something apologetic and banish myself back to the attic, she started to speak.  It was low at first, almost like she wasn’t speaking to me, but mumbling to herself. I strained to hear her, sure that she wouldn’t continue if I asked her to repeat herself. 

“That map… that ‘treasure’ map,’ she scoffed.  “If I had known what that ‘treasure map’ had in store for us, I might not have married your Grandfather.  You know we found that map on our honeymoon?”  She finally turned to acknowledge that I was still sitting there.  Of course I was still there; I was hanging on her every word.

“What you don’t know is that your Grandfather and I were considered an arranged marriage.  We knew of each other; our families were the best of friends, an extended family of sorts.  Back in Sicily, it was normal to arrange a marriage for a child, to insure that your line would continue and you’d know the sort of people you were getting into bed with, no pun intended.  Our marriage was arranged with the idea that Marcello and I would link the families together to create a stronghold of our properties, intimidate the neighbors, that sort of thing.”

These were the lines said in movies!  Why was my grandmother telling me stories that correlate to the God Father?

“We went to Spain on our honeymoon.  It was so beautiful, but, bella, we didn’t really leave the hotel for two days!  Finally on the third day, I told your grandfather that we needed to go out and do touristy things or I was going to make the first year of our marriage a nightmare.  He didn’t need much more convincing than that, so we went out and took in the sights.  When we came back, there was this map left on the desk in our room.”  She shook her head, like she was trying to clear the clouds that fifty years had given her.

The clock struck eleven and the sound of my grandfather’s truck could be heard pulling in the driveway.  She turned her head toward the front of the house and a hint of a smile curled upon her lips. 

“This is a story for another time, love.  Your grandfather’s home.  Mind you be getting back up stairs, and put that back where you found it, okay?”

I made my way up the stairs wondering just what kind of life my grandmother had lived before we existed.

***
Thanks for reading everyone!

My Indie Ink Challenge Prompt was dilvered to me by Melissa Brodsky.  "You find an old treasure map locked away in your grandparents’ attic."  In turn, I challenged Crosshavenharpist with what she would do after she robbed a bank.