Attic Attack

Recently, my mother hounded me into going home to root through her attic before she called a company to dredge through it and remove everything for a minimal fee. I did what any grown child would do to their demanding parent…I put her off for months. Finally, after she pestered me for the 400th time (my mother has the tenacity of a honey badger) I agreed to come out in two days time. See, two days was what I needed to fortify myself for this undertaking…well, that and to con a friend into helping me.

I immediately conned the friend. Then, I actually started to get excited about it. I would be digging through my childhood, and I distinctly recall the attic being a treasure trove of goodies and fabulous used clothes. In the least, I figured I could snatch some of my old toys for my kids, and pick some snazzy costume jewelry for me. We suited up!

We arrived at Mom’s at 9am. I pulled on the attic hatch and down came creaky old rickety stairs. We climbed up, and were greeted with the smell of neglect. I flipped the light switch and stepped into the harsh realities of my youth. Garbage bags filled with awesome ‘retro’ clothes were actually tattered, dirty and eerily creepy fur coats, threadbare nightgowns and polyester contraptions that no self-respecting human would put on in this day & age. I sighed. I was hopeful for a Halloween costume or two; I guess this year I’ll be donning something store bought once more.

I perked up, “OVER THERE! In the back…I think those are my toys!”

We waded through piles and piles of papers that my mother should have burned or thrown out decades ago. I knocked over countless stacks of books (and not good ones either – bizarre self-help books with accompanying audio cassette tapes). Finally, I think: the reason I actually came. [strange, the box was nowhere as big as I remember] In it were some pathetic things indeed. It was like a real-life Island of Misfit Toys. There was a pink opossum missing an eye, a dirt stained kitty puppet, random dollar store fodder and the only salvageable saving grace…Ashleigh.

Ashleigh was a disturbingly empty commentary on my battered childhood. Ashleigh was my red-headed Cabbage Patch. Ashleigh had a bag of homemade clothes. Ashleigh had ears I had pierced myself. Ashleigh was my best friend; hell, she may have been my only friend much of the time. Grown up Me stood, stooped in my mother’s attic, clutching this dingy piece of memorabilia; overwhelmed with the need to cry. The sum total of my childhood resulted in a singular shoddy piece of redemption…Ashleigh.

In the glaring moments in that dim lighting of the attic, I came face to face with the blaring realities of my life. I know I didn’t have much of a childhood (for reasons I shall not bore you with – other than stating my mom was sick and we were poor). I now understand it is different to know that behind closed doors, never really sharing it with anyone - and to stand amidst it clutching your one thing of value – long forgotten for over 20 years. I took Ashleigh home.

That night, I tenderly cleaned Ashleigh. I brushed her hair (which is very life-like). I delicately washed her clothes. I took a deep breath and took Ashleigh upstairs. My oldest daughter was playing in the living room. I asked if I could have a moment…

“I want you to meet someone special to me. This is Ashleigh. Ashleigh grew up with me. She keeps secrets better than anyone. She gives the best hugs when Mommy can’t. She’ll always love you, and best of all - she’ll never leave you. Would you like to have Ashleigh and introduce her to your other babies?” I waited nervously, hopefully. I wasn’t quite sure what I was anticipating. I held my breath. Then the most wonderful thing happened.

My daughter looked up at me, with her intelligent eyes and said, “You loved her? She was your friend? [nodding her head] Yes, I love her, Mommy. She’s so beautiful, and has such nice hair. She’s perfect! Are those her clothes?” I pushed the bag of clothes over. In that moment, my daughter changed everything. Her mere acceptance of a silly doll took a lifetime of loneliness and transformed it into something remarkable.

I’m glad Ashleigh has a new best friend…one who sparkles and laughs. She deserves it.