Fiction Within Reality

When I was little my father took me to a family reunion at my great uncle's house.  Honestly, I don't recall him being all that great, but people still refer to him as such, so I must have missed something.  There were many people there I didn't know, and probably haven't seen since.  They didn't leave much of an impression, so I may have bumped into them later in life and not even realized it.  

The thing I do remember was the house itself.  Up until that point in my short life, I had never been in a house that large and elaborately decorated.  It was very old and had accumulated a wide variety of artwork and antiques in it's history.  Apparently it had also had a rather large garden at one point, before indifference had allowed that part of the grounds to be reclaimed by the nearby forest.    

After leaving I found myself asking Dad all kinds of questions about it, like "How can we get one".  Much to my disappointment, I found that my lunch money wasn't nearly enough for a mansion of that caliber.  Apparently it was also too much for my great uncle to originally afford.  His former wife had given up the life of a low level aristocrat and drained her bank account, before vanishing off into the Florida Keys.  One day she just up and left him, leaving behind a note and legal documentation granting him the house, as long as he didn't ever try to find her. I never pried into that story, but I can imagine the details weren't pretty.  

The next visit to the house was a few years later, when my great uncle passed away after a struggle with bowel cancer.  Apparently he was pretty bad with money and had left behind a great deal of debt.  With no children of his own to come sort business out, the burden had fallen to my father and his siblings to sort through the estate and decide what should be kept and what should be sold off.  Our own household got a neat looking antique sewing machine out of that deal, and it still stands today at my parents' house.  

So as our parents sorted through boring legal papers and photos of people we couldn't care less about, my cousins and I decided to do what kids always do when left unattended in a huge old house.  We played hide and go seek.  

It was amazing.  Every Hide-and-go-seek dream I had ever wished for in a sane and functional house was fulfilled that day.  There were odd little nooks and crannies that had developed throughout the house from years of structural additions and alterations, perfect for creeping around and skulking.  The floors were all solid hard wood, but most were covered in ornate rugs so footsteps wouldn't alert any nearby seekers.  Each room seemed to be crammed full with interesting furniture and odd bobbles from around the world, so no one got bored waiting to be found.  Best of all it was bigger than I had originally thought.  There were four levels to the house, not counting the dark creepy cellar, but we all unanimously declared that place off limits.  Not that any of us were scared in any way, but if the parents found us lurking there, they might think mischief was afoot.  The whole thing was most likely more fun than that house had seen in decades.    

The day went on in this way, pausing briefly for lunch and bathroom visits.  A few hours past noon my cousin Dustin stopped a game prematurely, saying that he had found hidden treasure in the attic.  We all took this as a prank, until he showed us the ring.  It was old and dirty and simple looking, but you could still tell it was made of gold, or at least had a golden color.  

We then decided our game of hide-and-go-seek was now a game of treasure hunt, and ran to the upper most level to see what else there was.  On the way up it was decided that the parents wouldn't hear about this, unless there was something really good up there that we couldn't hide ... like a car made of diamonds or something.

Dustin led the way up the spiral staircase leading to the attic.  The place was crammed with all sorts of things and poorly lit.  We took this as a good sign, since it was obviously an ideal place for hiding treasure chests full of gems and coins.  Our hopes were dashed when he led us to a section of bare brick wall on the far side of the impressive labyrinth of storage items.  He told us that, as he was hiding, he had found a broken wine bottle and passed the time by using part of it to idly pick at the mortar of the wall behind him.  He had gotten carried away and scraped out enough to uncover the ring.

We could see the crumbling gaps between the bricks.  Upon closer inspection, we saw that the materials comprising that particular section of wall were a different color from the rest, indicating it had been a relatively recent addition.  Thoughts of confederate bandits hiding their spoils in the house leaked into our minds, and we were ready to rip open the wall right then and there with our bare hands if necessary.  

It was about then that the parents caught up to us, and, as parents often do, spoiled our fun.  They had noticed the sudden lack of children attempting to be quiet, and one of my aunts had taken it upon herself to go make sure we weren't all dead.  She hadn't been in the attic before and had no way of knowing how crowded and dark and "dangerous to little kids" it was (which was bullshit, by the way, because we were totally BIG kids).  

She threw a fit and marched us back downstairs, declaring the attic was now off limits.  The rest of the parents were informed, and we were restricted to the lower levels.  This itched us to no end and we resolved to return later for further secret exploration.  Of course, it never happened.  The rest of the weekend we were kept out of the attic, and soon enough the parents' business was concluded.  There was no need for any of the family to return.  None of us ever said anything.  It wouldn't matter if we did, they were adults and we were kids.  They would say the ring was stolen from a jewelery box or something similar, so we agreed to just let Dustin keep it.

It's been years since the house was sold off, and the whole experience was forgotten until recent weeks when I heard that it had burned down.  That brought back memories, and I decided to send an email to Dustin to see if he remembered it, thinking maybe he still had that old ring.  His response was that he shared my feelings, and would miss the place, even though there were never any plans to go back.  He also said that, even though he had kept the ring for a lot longer than he probably should have, he eventually pawned it off. He got a decent price for it too.  Apparently it was real gold.  The pawn shop guy told him it had most likely been a wedding ring, but couldn't give a date on it other than 'antique'.  He paid Dustin a few dollars extra for the 'sentimental value'.  Personally, I think he most likely just ripped him off.  I've seen the television shows about pawn shop owners, and there's nothing sentimental about them.  

The last few days I've found myself periodically wondering back to the house and that ring, and to what the bride and groom may have been feeling on their wedding day.  I find myself wondering how their lives turned out for them.  I find myself wondering if she actually did make it to the Florida Keys.