Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a
story inspired by the phrase “back to normal.” It could be a pandemic-related
story about getting back to normal, or one about not getting back to normal, or
a story about something else entirely.
The Fairy
Lady
by Val
Muller
Life cleaning out my parents’ house was an introvert’s dream.
My dad had always been a hoarder, but after mom died, he really
lost control. After he passed, I moved into the house. I was between jobs and
between boyfriends, and I figured I could live rent-free in my childhood home
while making money selling the massive collection my dad had accumulated over
the years.
There was barely enough room to push the stuff from my old room
into my parents’ bedroom to make room for me to sleep. I managed to cram most
of my personal belongings from the apartment into the garage. Eventually, I
would clear room for it all in the house.
Each day, I forced myself to fill three large bins of
accumulation, sort through them, and trash/sell/keep. I figured, maybe I’d be
done sorting through the house in six months or so at that rate—ha!
In the meantime, I returned to the room I grew up in. Besides my
bed, I cleared my old student desk, and that’s where I set up my workshop. My
dad had found a box of small glass bottles with corks. 84 of them. They were
there on my desk, at the bottom of all the other things my dad had saved. They
were so new and shiny that I decided to keep them.
That first day I found some miniature thimbles my dad had squirreled
away. I thought—they’d be perfect to put in a jar. I added some colored thread
around them, and I crocheted some yarn I found into a little mouse. I’ll admit
it looked cute—a mousy little seamstress. It reminded me of myself, somehow. A
shy little mouse. A little maker.
The next day, I found some rusty hardware—nails, gears, bolts. And
a welding kit. I made them into steampunk flowers tiny enough to drop into the
jar.
An old video game controller turned into a computer chip tree with
wire branches glistening there in the jar.
It was therapeutic, really. My mind stopped racing about the
breakup with Robby, and I was pulled into the lull of crafting. I could finally
stop replaying my last weeks at the bank in my mind, how I could never make
enough sales, was never pushy enough with customers. I put the jars on my
bookshelf and looked at them before falling asleep each night.
After that, I made several jars each week. During the days I kept
an eye out for little treasures dad had tucked away. Beads, moss, tiny
pinecones, trinkets. I felt that I was preserving a little piece of dad and his
legacy—while still decluttering. The jars were a shield from the emotional
wreck of tossing dad’s stuff, his lifetime of collection. They were a shield
from a world of demanding boyfriends and demanding bosses.
The drive to make the jars pushed me to go through the house
faster than my goal, and before three months were up, the place was clean. I’d
made more money selling his things through local marketplaces than I did at the
bank, and I put up an Etsy store for my jars.
Soon all 84 were filled, and many were sold. And the house was
clean.
I had no boyfriend and no health insurance. It was coming. I
painted each room as a way to procrastinate. I used some of my earnings to
purchase new furniture and dishes, to make the home my own.
But after I’d done every improvement I could afford, after I
cleared out even the garage, I couldn’t escape reality. I’d run out of things
to sell. I’d run out of trinkets to place in jars. I had to go back to work.
I hurried out the door to my new job. Working in the craft store
was not the best money, but at the interview they said there was a chance I
could lead some classes in the studio. And if nothing else, I would get lots of
ideas for future fairy jars.
*
Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/
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