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I might as well be one of those old oyster shells strewn across the beach on a foggy morning; shattered to pieces by crashing waves–my insides coarse and hollow because too many people had come by and pried me open with their knives, gobbling up my guts. I didn’t know which was worse; the cracked and empty shells piled upon one another chipping at the mercy of the pounding breakers, or my hands bleeding and aching from cracking the shells, salt and sand being chafed into them, grinding itching pain.
That’s me when Aunt Agnes and cousin Shirley came to the house and started taking all of Uncle Jim’s things. I didn’t care about some of the stuff. Uncle Jim and I talked about throwing a lot of our old junk away, like the newspapers piled up in the corner, or the clothes that the two of us went through and said we were going to give to the poor but never did. Uncle Jim had been collecting old war relics that only he could want. I didn’t know what half of them were. But when Aunt Agnes and Shirly started packing the clothes he wore every day, I couldn’t let that happen. I grabbed his Cammy coat from Shirley and she tugged back.
“Stop being so stubborn, Dylan,” she said. “Unless you want to do all this work by yourself, which you should have been doing all along, let mom and I clean up. This place is disgusting.”
“You can’t take his coat. He needs his coat,” I said, not really knowing what I was saying. I wasn’t smart, but I knew that when someone dies that’s the end of them. I’d been to the funeral and I saw his body and knew he was gone. He wasn’t going to get cold again. But all his stuff didn’t have to disappear, too. “I need his coat,” I corrected myself, so I didn’t sound like an idiot. “I don’t mind having his stuff here. There’s room in the closet for his belongings, none of his stuff would be in my way.” I looked at Aunt Agnes, hoping she’d relent and stop putting everything in boxes.
“Dylan,” she said in that condescending voice. “Everything has to go. Even your things. The house has to be empty.”
I stood there with my mouth open and I felt wet welling in my eyes. “No.” I said.
“Yes, Dylan. You have to go too.” Shirley’s voice resonated like an iron bell against my head. She bunched up the Cammy and stuffed the jacket in a box. I think she got some sort of satisfaction saying I had to go, too. Shirley never liked me. I could tell by the way she snickered whenever she saw me.
“No, I can stay here by myself,” I argued. “I can take care of myself. I’m fine.”
“Dylan, we’re selling the house. You’ll be living somewhere else.”
No one gave me any warning about that. Uncle Jim’s house never belonged to Aunt Agnes. We always talked about the property belonging to him and me. So, if he was gone, the house would be mine. I’d have a place to live for the rest of my life. “You don’t want this house. It’s just a shack. That’s what you always said.”
“A shack with ocean front property. Sorry Dylan. You’ll get some of the inheritance, but the house must go! We’ll find you a nicer place to live. I’ve been looking and have one scoped out. A place where you’ll be well cared for. You won’t even have to cook your meals.”
“I like to cook.”
“Come on Dylan, everyone knows if you were left in the kitchen alone you’d burn the house down,” Shirley interjected. I wanted to punch her, but I knew better.
“Shirley!” Aunt Agnes shot a dagger eye at her. “No need to rile him.” To me she spoke calmly, trying to patronize me. “It’s true you’ll get your meals, and someone will make sure you’re well kept.”
Well kept? I’m not a dog. I could only gape at the two, unable to defend myself because the words wouldn’t come.
“With one phone call, we can get you there, tonight even!” Shirley took an empty crate into the kitchen and started packing my pots and pans. I ran in there after her. By now I was boiling inside. Those were my tools. Whatever she put in her wooden milk crate, I pulled out. She grabbed the muffin tin out of my hand and I yanked it back, slamming the end accidentally against her nose. “Mother!” She cried out and I ran to my room, muffin tin in hand. That’s when I started shoving all my dirty clothes into my pack. Anything that would fit I rammed in there all balled up and wrinkled, like a crazy man. The muffin tin, too.
I heard them talking. “Don’t get into a fight with him. Just let him be. You know how angry he gets when he’s stressed. We’ll get him to the counselor as soon as we’re done here.” Aunt Agnes said.
“Better get him there now or we’ll never get done! I can’t take any more of this,” Shirley barked at her mother like a little kid even though she was a full-grown adult. Older than me.
I wanted to cry. I didn’t. Uncle Jim once told me when I get that mad to count to ten, so I counted. Two or three times. I wiped my tears with my sleeve before they streamed down my face. I counted again. Uncle Jim wanted me to do things slow so that they got done right, so I took a deep breath and sat on my bed, put my pack on my lap and pulled everything out with the intent to arrange things neatly. I got to the blue box down at the bottom and carefully lifted the package up. Aunt Agnes barged into the room just then, and I barely had time to cover the box on my lap with some dirty clothes.
“Pack your things, Dylan. Shirley will take you to the park. There’s no reason for you to be here right now.”
“I don’t want to go to the park,” is all I could manage to say.
Her lips thinned, and I could see she didn’t want an argument. “I’m not asking you Dylan. We’re all as upset as you. Just pack your things and we’ll take you to your new home.”
She left before I could think of a response. I’d sworn never to use magic in front of Aunt Agnes, much less Shirley, but I wanted to. Not my good magic either. The black kind that would lock them out of the house and out of my life forever.
But I didn’t. I kept my secret.
I thought about taking Annabella out of the box then, and just holding her because that would have been a comfort to me. She was the last thing Uncle Jim gave me and I could sense him speaking to me through her. I was afraid Aunt Agnes, or worse, cousin Shirley would burst into my room again if I did, though. They would take her from me, like Uncle Jim said they would, and I wouldn’t be able to handle that. I put the blue box back into my pack, and folded my clothes neatly, one by one, and placed them on top.
Chapter 6
