Stale Gummy Bears
A woman visits her childhood home.
Alex pulled up next to the house well into the afternoon. It had rained earlier in the day, and light was beginning to trickle through the clouds.
She parked the car on the curb and watched the house through the passenger side window. It did not move. It did not make a sound. There was chirping in the nearby trees but nothing from the house. She gritted her teeth and opened the car door.
As she got out, she kept her eyes on the house. It was not a large house. It was squat and shone a mossy green in the somber sun. When she was little she loved the color. It reminded her of sweet grass and fresh turf. She didn't know how she felt about it now.
She reached back into the car and grabbed a linen bag from the passenger's seat. It was a small bag. She closed the car door.
Alex walked slowly along the road and along the pavement up to the house. The driveway was cracked in many places. Here she'd played with the other kids. Jump rope. Hopscotch.
"Step on a crack…"
Her voice was low.
She slipped a paw into her pocket and found the key. It was an old key. Very mangled and rusty. She reached the door and slid the key into the locks. The locks turned with a pleasant clunking. The door opened.
In the house it was hot and stuffy. There was plenty of dust in the air. Floating dust. Dust that bobbled between the rays of window-light. They shimmered. She waved a paw, and the dust swirled away. She flicked the light switch. The lights stayed off.
Beside the front door was a small table. On the table were pictures of her and Pa. She was happy in the pictures. Pa was happy too. She was wearing her jersey. Number 03. That was her number. She'd chosen 03 because it was her favorite. She didn't know why. She smiled. These were the happiest moments, she thought.
Beneath the table was a soccer ball. She picked it up. The ball was flat, but still shiny. Pa had paid a whole 30 dollars for it a long time ago. Pa did a lot of things like that. He used to give gummy bears to the whole team after their games. He gave more if they won. She was thankful for it, at the time. It gave her something to reach for. She dropped the ball. It thumped against the carpet.
The house stretched into a long hallway before her. It stretched along the ground, thin and wiry. Rooms jutted-out from either side of the hall like leaves from a central branch. She moved forward with the linen bag scrunched in her hand.
The living room was her bedroom. There was an old smell in the air. Her paw brushed along the back of the couch. It was plush against her paw. Two piles of clothes sat in the corner of the room. One folded pile. One unfolded pile. She'd been folding them when they'd come. They were knocking on the door. Then banging. Then yelling. She closed her eyes. She reopened them. That was a long time ago.
Alex circled around the couch and sat. Dust jumped into the air. It was very comfortable on the couch. The cushions fit into the grooves of her back and shoulders. The couch fit her perfectly just as it always had. She sighed. This was good.
Beside the couch was the TV. She and Pa had watched many movies together on this couch, in front of the TV. He showed her all of his favorites. She did not care for films, but she knew Pa did, and that was enough to make her happy.
He was a very particular critic, Pa. He would go on and on about precise camera angles and the perfect shot. Everything was intentional, according to Pa. It never failed to put her to sleep. Sometimes, she'd awaken to Pa tucking her in cozy with a blanket. She would watch him behind her eyelashes. Watch him wish her sweet dreams. Then he would return to sitting beside her and watch the TV in silence.
Alex stood from the couch and knelt before the TV. Beside it there was a worn cardboard box. There were many home movies there. Clackity, old VHS tapes. They were stacked upon each other. She pawed through them. Each one was labeled with a bright green marker. She picked up a few and looked them over.
STATE FINALS. 98, 99, 00, 01.
They had only won finals once. That was in 2001. It was an intense match. They went into overtime at 0-0. Kayla scored the winning goal all the way from midfield. After the match, they hoisted Number 8 up and paraded her up and down the bleachers. Kayla was happy. Alex was too. She still was but less so now. She wondered how things might have changed if they'd lost that game. She stood up.
The carpet was plush beneath Alex's feet as she crept further down the hallway. She found old things in closets. In the bathroom. Old things she had forgotten existed at all. Good things, mostly. Things that brought her back to a time before.
Her bag was empty as she entered the kitchen. A pair of cast iron pans hung from spokes beside the oven. She opened the cabinets and looked through the plates. Then the silverware in the drawers. Forks and knives and the rest.
There were more photos of her and Pa on the fridge. Holding her close. Making funny faces. Laughing. Happy. So so happy. She smiled. Then she didn't. She placed her paw on the fridge. She was about to open the fridge door but decided against it. Whatever was in there had gone bad long ago.
Across the hallway from the kitchen was Pa's room. Pa always slept with his door open, but now the door was closed. He'd said it let him hear any goblins before they snuck in and snatched her. That's just what monsters do. She'd laughed at that. Her claw traced the doorknob's metal base. Dull, yet shiny. That was a long time ago, when she'd laughed at that.
Past Pa's room and the kitchen was the basement. Its open doorway lingered at the end of the hall. Its stairs led down into the dark. Alex felt the empty bag beside her. She did not want to go down there, but some part of her did. The wooden stairs creaked loudly as she stepped. The creakings echoed in the house. She descended quickly, and the creaks followed behind her.
It was very dark and very cold in the basement. The floor was hard concrete. There were many cans and many shelves of cans. Many were tins of peaches. She loved peaches. She was a picky eater. She still was, but she loved peaches. Pa used to buy huge crates of peach tins every month for her. The labels were faded. Colorful, but faded.
There were webs all along the walls and the shelves. Against one wall was the chest freezer. That was where Pa kept his filming equipment. She grabbed the lid. It was a heavy lid. She had to use both hands to lift it. It swung open as she heaved. The inside was empty. It smelled musty inside the freezer. She closed the lid.
On the opposite wall was the old dresser. The dresser had moved and now stood about five feet to the right. There was much dust on the old, wooden dresser. Others might not know that it had moved, but she did. She knew that, at least.
The door was there. There, in that place where the dresser once stood. The door she had never touched. First it had hidden behind the dresser. Then the tape. Now nothing. It wasn't hiding anymore.
Its surface was stoney and gray. It was staring at her. It had to be heavy. It must be. It would never have made sense otherwise. Alex's heart quickened. Her palms grew sweaty. She took slow, deep breaths. Her feet nudged forward. Slowly. Slowly. Until she could almost reach out and touch the door.
Her foot kicked something. It skidded across the floor's surface and bumped against the bottom of the door. It was a gummy bear. Green and stale and covered in dusty webbings. It was not a normal gummy bear. It was his and that scared her. She looked back up at the door. This was a bad place. She did not want to open the door anymore.
Upstairs it was getting dark. The sun was setting. The walls were a deep red-orange. The shadows in the hallway were long. The funeral was next week. It was a small thing. Alex wanted to be there. She knew it would be hard, but she didn't know. She didn't think she ever would. Not really.
Alex walked back down the hall toward the front door. She stopped again at the little table of picture frames. Her bag opened, and she grabbed the nearest frame. She looked at the picture for a long time. Green grass. Sunny day. Smiles all around. But there was something else now. Another number. She didn't want to see it, but there it was. There, in the background of the picture. She knew then.
The frame fell from Alex's hands. It thumped face down on the floor. She stuffed the empty bag into her pocket. The door swung open and slammed behind her. She raced through the yard, and the grass grabbed at her ankles the whole way. She rounded her car and got inside. Then she chucked the key out of the window and drove off without a second thought.