Magica

Laughter and Cries from a Jukebox

I debated on whether or not to go to the small town I had been brought up in. It was tough, considering there were so many memories. But, I had to make the decision in one hour, before well, nothing was even left.

It was a cute, brown- in a very ancient sort of way, something nice and cozy, sort of house. With the walls I had drawn on or to be more accurate, scribbled with my crayons. Sketches of a little five year old up to the time I was eleven. And then, all the enthusiasm drifted away like the short rain that came to simply tease you and make your air more humid.

Even so, the fact that it was going to be gone left me ambivalent about visiting it. Ten years had passed.

And in ten years, I had earned my degree, found a job and settled in with someone I loved. And had a lovely son.

That home was a reminder of someone I had lost.

Yet, I wondered how much dust the air had blown in. If the jukebox was still there. If the muslin curtains still draped the windows like before.

The house was always in our name, and I wouldn't let go of it; neither would I allow to sell it even though there was no one remaining to inherit it. That house was a haunting place of soft muslin cloth which could make you want to run your fingers along it and the scribbled walls filled with the scent of crayons and the howling that day.

I glanced at the clock; thirteen minutes had passed.

Someone rang and I went around the table to pick the phone. "Hello?"

"Ms. Linda?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes? That's me," I responded.

"I am Ted. We are the people who are going to live in...the demolishing takes place at nine a.m. Are you going to come or can we just speed it up?" he got to the point.

My heart rate picked up as I choked out. "No, please. I'll be there. Just give me some time. You said nine a.m. I'll be there before that."

"Okay," he said hesitantly.

I kept the receiver and sighed. I met him a day before, looking at the house, wrinkling their noses. They were five. A family of five with three kids.

And they despised the house; I could tell when they'd come to ask for permission.

I grabbed the keys off the stand and closed the door. I was going. No matter what. I had to listen to her voice.

I started the car, telling Richard of my decision. He wished me luck and told me to be careful. Richard had visited it some five years back. He said he didn't have the heart to be reminded of everything again. And neither did I.

You can do this, Linda. You can. For the little bud.

I sped up, glancing at my wristwatch every few minutes. I reached there at ten minutes to nine.

"Ms. Linda. How nice," he said, but I opened the door with shaky hands, barely being able to get the darn key in. I stepped in, inhaling and then coughing instantly.

I glanced up the cobwebs that lined the ceiling and the dust under my feet. It felt slippery and I treaded carefully. I knew where to go, without even paying attention.

I reached the dreaded place where a little jukebox sat atop the kitchen counter. It looked as though it'd been waiting all its life for me to come along. I wondered if it'd still work, considering that I'd put it to a deep slumber of ten years. A rat scurried by and I jumped in worry. Calming myself, I took a deep breath and took a bronze coin.