Marilyn Peake - The Other

The front door opened a sliver. A short, thin man with gray hair sticking up in all directions peered out from a darkened space.

Maggie placed one hand on the door and the other on her dad’s shoulder. Bending over to kiss him on the cheek, she said, “It’s good to see you, dad!”

Obviously happy to see his daughter, he let her push the door all the way open. She turned and waved for us to follow.

Andy went first. I came in after him and quietly shut the door.

I couldn’t see anything of the house interior. Our view was completely blocked by stacks of boxes three-quarters of the way up to the ceiling. We stepped into a narrow space facing a wall of boxes.

I screamed as something flew past me and whacked me on the head. Wings! The fluttering sound, and the sensation of being smacked in the head by a flying animal. The first thought that popped into my head was: Bats! I wanted to run from the home, but I had come prepared for anything. I figured there were bound to be mice and rats in some of these houses, considering how much junk and old food were typically stockpiled. I just hadn’t thought about the possibility of bats. I remembered the missing roof tiles. I hoped we wouldn’t need to go up into the attic, but I knew that was wishful thinking. An attic was the perfect spot for both bats and hoarding. Maybe we were all hoarders deep down. Even people with sparsely decorated homes tended to stuff all kinds of memories up in that special place below the roof.

I thought about the attic in my own family’s house. My mom had filled it with lots of memories, mostly of me growing up: Girl Scout uniforms, projects I’d made, baby clothes, early reader books. A thought struck me hard. Had she left records of my adoption up there?

Max shouted, “Squirtle!” pulling me out of my reverie.

I asked, “Squirtle?”

Making her way down a narrow aisle between piles of cardboard boxes, Maggie explained, “It’s a Pokémon.”

Following her, I said, “Oh, I know that. It looks like a little blue turtle. But what was your dad referring to?”

As she ran her hands along the cardboard walls surrounding us, Maggie said, “It’s our parrot. Squirtle. I named him. Parrots live a long time. Squirtle’s twenty years old now. I named him when I was twelve. I thought it was perfect back then—just because he’s blue and I loved everything Pokémon.”

I laughed. “Me, too. I had binders full of cards.”

Maggie stopped and turned around. She smiled. “I did, too.” Rapping on a box with her knuckles, she added, “My collection’s somewhere in here.” Opening her arms wide and reaching upward, she said, “Somewhere in all the piles in this enormous house. If you come across them when I’m not here, please let me know, OK?”

I said, “Sure.”

From somewhere on the other side of the cardboard fort, Maggie’s dad shouted, “Squirtle! Good boy! Now, you have to go back in your cage. You’re scaring our guests.”

Running my hands over sides of boxes, following Maggie’s way of maneuvering the narrow aisle, my hand brushed against something soft and gooey. I stopped and looked. Gah! Bird poop!

Looking at my hand, I tried to decide what to say. Finally, I asked, “Is there a place where I can wash my hands?”

Maggie turned around. “Why?”

I held up my hand and showed her the poop.

Maggie said, “Yeah, that happens. Follow me.”

Andy and Max’s voices rose up loudly from somewhere beyond the cardboard wall. Andy was saying, “I thought you had decided to get rid of these papers. They’re very old. See how they’re yellowing.”

Max started crying. “I don’t care how yellow they are! They’re part of history— my history, my family’s history. Look here…” The sound of paper rustling, pages being flipped. “See this weather report? It snowed that day. It got real deep. I took my kids sledding while Mary made dinner. I can’t throw away that memory.”

Andy asked, “Mr. Davenport, did you take any photos that day?”

Max answered, “No. Not that day. Mary took most of our family photographs. She was real good that way…” He started crying again.

Andy didn’t give up. He said, “OK, how about this one?”

Again, the sound of newspaper pages being turned; then shook, probably to make the pages lie flat. Max said, “OK, now see here, peaches were on sale. Molly loved peaches. I’m sure Mary musta bought some for her during that sale.”

Andy tried a logical approach. “But, see, you don’t know for sure. This newspaper is kind of creating a false memory for you. Why don’t we get rid of this one?”

Max started to cry again. “No, not that one. It has peaches in it! It’s a connection for me with little Molly. You can’t take that away from me.”

Andy said, “Speaking of Molly, where is she today? She couldn’t make it?”

In between sobs, Max said, “No. She doesn’t come around much anymore. She’s pretty ungrateful. Broke her mom’s heart, she did.”

We reached the end of the path Maggie had taken through the boxes. She seemed to know exactly where it led. We came out directly into the area where Andy and Max were talking. They were standing in a small oval area in what appeared to be the living room, completely encircled by enormous stacks of newspapers. It reminded me of photos I’d seen of soldiers hunkered down in the trenches in World War I, surrounded by piles of sandbags.

Maggie said, “Hey, Dad, Jade needs to wash her hands. She ran into some of Squirtle’s poop. We’re gonna use the powder room next to the kitchen, OK?”

In a shaky voice, her father replied, “OK. But don’t stay in there too long. You know I don’t like people in the kitchen area. It disturbs the way I have things arranged in there.”

Maggie said, “Sure. I know that, Dad.”

As we entered the kitchen, pain shot through my abdomen, on the lower right side. It was so severe, it felt like I’d been stabbed with a knife. Without thinking, I doubled over, grabbed my side, and moaned from the sudden agony of it.

Max and Andy stopped talking.

With worry in her voice, Maggie asked, “Are you all right?”

I stayed crouched over for what felt like an eternity. Finally, the pain disappeared, evaporated into thin air. I straightened up, feeling embarrassed. First day in the field and I’d managed to behave unprofessionally. I couldn’t read Andy’s face to determine if he was shocked. He was looking at me without much of an expression.

I answered, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just had a sudden sharp pain. Not sure what it was.”

Maggie said, “I think you wiped Squirtle’s poop on your shirt.”

Oh, damn. There was poop there all right! I felt super-annoyed, but worked hard to hide it. Man, Squirtle was the perfect name for that bird. A squirt here, a squirt there. Ugh.

The kitchen stank so badly, I held my breath while we crossed through it. The smell of rotting food permeated the air.

The bathroom was worse. I almost threw up. I fought really hard not to hurl. The toilet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Thin swirls of brown sludge lined the bowl. Orange mold ran along the inside rim. The seat was up, so I got a horrifyingly good look.

The sink was so disgusting, I almost didn’t see the point in washing my hands. Black mold circled the drain.

Maggie turned the faucets on for me. She said, “They stick sometimes.” Fumbling around on a shelf behind a striped curtain, she produced a bar of antibacterial soap and handed it to me.

Placing my hands under the warm water calmed me. I lathered with soap and rinsed. I asked Maggie, “Do you have any paper towels or anything, so I can clean my shirt?”