Drowning

5 - Bugsby

"Good morning! I made us pancakes. I was going to wake you up last night for dinner but I figured you needed the rest so I made a huge breakfast for us this morning!" Mr. Potts smiles eagerly, placing some plates and glasses on the table. Orange juice, eggs, sausage, pancakes, and berries line the table. My stomach growls with anticipation.

"Morning." I sit at the table and notice a plate set at Mrs. Potts usual seat and I can't help but to smile. I know she will always be my guardian angel.

"What's your plans for today, honey?" Mr. Potts shoves a bite of fluffy pancakes in his mouth. I begin digging in too.

"I think I'll start looking for the clues to find my surprise that you refuse to tell me about!" I joke with him. His laugh is hefty and loud similar to those fake Santa's at the mall.

"That's great! Perhaps you can start in the den." He winks at me and I start eating faster. "Slow down! You're going to get a stomachache!"

"I can't slow down! I have to hurry if I wanna find out what it is!" I take a couple of gulps of orange juice and eat some sausage along with my pancakes. Everything is delicious. I feel at peace knowing I'm no longer in that hell house. Although, a thick sadness crawls into my heart when I realize this is only a temporary peace. I wash my plate and glass and head into the den.

Mr. Potts has empty boxes scattered along the room. This isn't helping my sadness. I start organizing some paperwork and filing them into specific boxes labeling them as mortgage and insurance documents.

There's a basket full of yarn beside a beautiful white rocking chair that looks like it came straight from the nineteen twenties. I run my fingers along the edge of the armrest. Memories of Mrs. Potts knitting me beanies for the winter run rampant through my brain. Tears threaten to spill over but I refuse to let them. I need to be happy not sad. She lived a wonderfully loud and creative and caring life.

I open a drawer beside the yarn basket and notice a whole layer of clothing items she has knitted over the years. Some items she has even embroidered. I pull out a white crew neck sweater with a purple butterfly stitched onto it. A faint scent of Mrs. Potts' perfume is reminiscent on the article of clothing. I draw it to my chest hugging it tight.

After a few hours, the empty boxes become filled and I shove them in the corner of the room to make space. I flop down on the couch feeling exhausted. I look around the den and think about all my memories in this house. My mom never cared to know where I was and when I'd come home she wouldn't even ask where I was all day. She'd never ask how my day at school went. She never cared about me. She wanted her men and drugs more than she wanted me.

The summer wind blows the wind chimes out on the porch and the musical notes ring in my ears through the open window. The weather brightens my mood a bit but I'm still sad and angry at the cards I've been dealt in life. Why me of all people? Why was I born with this life?

"Do you need me to wash any laundry for you?" Mr. Potts stands at the door frame with a laundry basket in hand.

"Sure, thank you." I run upstairs and grab my clothes from the day previous. There is blood on my shirt from my eye and my jeans are dirty from me being thrown on the floor. A slip of paper peaks out of the pocket of my jeans and I pull it out. Heather's number. I toss my clothes in the basket and thank Mr. Potts once again for washing my clothes.

The yellow landline hangs on the wall with the cord dangling against the ship lapped wall. I pick it up and listen to the dial tone. I shake my head and hang up the receiver. After my small break, I decide to continue working on packing up the den and searching for my clue.