Store 1 “Starting Over”

“It is raining on New Years day, and I don't know what to make of it. For as long as I can remember, I have always thought of new years as this bleak period of terrible cold. Yet there is such a pleasant glow after the holidays, or simply a hope for a new year.

But it doesn't rain in January. Not where I live.

Not ever.

I'm closing up my shop right now, waiting on the truck to be unloaded, and I just felt this need to sit and really go over how things have been and how things will be. This new year is going to be so hard on so many people, and I wish I could say that I am not one of em.

Business has been brutal since the lockdown, and it is only barely enough lately to help me get by. But this rain on New Years feels like some sort of bad omen my ma and pa would go on about, some old tradition from the old country. A wild tale full of foreboding and horrors long forgotten by “the young.”

I look out into the rain, and I do not feel the pleasantness of the season, the hope that comes from a new year beginning, a sense of starting over. Even holiday lights fail to lift my mood. Journaling was supposed to help that, but so far it just cements my thoughts instead of clarifying them.

This new years doesn't feel like a starting over. It feels much the same as the year before.

Maybe that is unusual and maybe it isn't. All I know is I am a little bit older, and I am still waiting on the man in back to finish unpacking the shipment so I can go the hell home.

Just want to get to my bed and rest. To forget about the new year.

What the hell is taking him so long?

I found blood on the ground.

Not blood.

A stain.

An after image. Shape like a person.

It was like he wasn't there at all.

My skin burns. There is a red glow.

It sits in judgment.

The red glow.

What did he do>What did I do?

Heat building at my back. Building like falling into coals.

Coals.

Eyes.

Mark where a man once was.

A mark where nothing is.

Nothing was.

Nothing will be.

It sits in judgment.

A shadow settles in by the doors.

The shadow stands at the exits.

I am

Sorry.

So very sorry.

I am ready. The heat .

The burning.”

I went up to the attic. I stored away the costume from Halloween wet, and I was worried that it was going to grow musty. It has been two weeks before I put it away, and it was still moist to the touch.

I went upstairs and pulled down the ladder. There is a sensation that comes from entering into a attic and even if it is a space that feels familiar, there is still something about it that feels alien and distant. It didn't take long for me to realize that there was something wrong.

That the costume was missing.

I called Dad to ask him about it. He said he had thrown it out!

That really set me off. I screamed at him. It had taken me ages to collect together all the pieces, the shawl alone being something priceless. By the time I was done I was seething with rage, and there was a long silence before my father spoke.

He said that ever since Halloween that I hadn't seen myself, that the costume had seemed to had a bad effect on me. He didn't want to return to something that was hurting me, and that he was sorry for not discussing it with me first.

What is done is done, he said!

I can't remember the last time I was this angry with him. We have always been good about one another's stuff, and never throw out something unless we knew that it was okay.

When my mom was murdered my dad initially went through the house and began to throw away things. Reminders of her. I stopped him and we had a huge fight. For days we didn't talk but eventually he apologized and we were able to move on. And ever since then we have made it a practice to ask before we throw away anything save for food.

I can't fucking believe he did that to me! He knew how much it mattered to me, and he decided to throw it away anyway.

I have been holed up in my room ever since he came home. He hasn't tried to reach out or anything. That means he either thinks he is right or he knows he has fucked up and doesn't want to admit to it. Whatever the reason, I don't care.

That costume felt wrong maybe...or right. Or whatever. I don't know. But I wanted that costume. I wanted to confront my fears, and he stole the reminder of that. He tossed it away like it was garbage.

But it mattered to me.

There is a dark corner of the room. A dark corner that held its form.

I lasted four hours.

It is just a costume.

We sat down and we talked about it. He apologized, and I understand. He was just trying to protect me. It clearly took something out of me. The months since that point I have been a mess, and I can see why he felt like the costume was the root of the problem.

He meant well.

I don't know.

It is just a costume.

I NEED TO TAKE MY MEDICINE.

I NEED TO GO TO SLEEP.