Those We Left Behind: And Other Sacrifices by Brandon Applegate

Author:Brandon Applegate [Applegate, Brandon]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780578968407
Published: 2021-11-23T07:00:00+00:00

You Will Be The One To Find This

Timothy was not angry with his brother and sister when they left. He was now. Both Charlotte and Ben had left right after their mom's funeral. Neither said anything. Fair enough.

Timothy sat alone in the back corner of the home they all grew up in. He remembered it being tidy, but now it was stacked to the rafters with a lifetime's collected detritus.

The worst pile was in what his mother called her "craft room." But there was no evidence the space was used to produce any crafts. It was where his mother hoarded the most outlandish items in her collected mess. Bundles of herbs crumbled on the tables. Boxes of still-sandy seashells, stacks of old clothes and fabric scraps, tassels, baubles, marbles, loose change, books, bottles, jars, loomed over Timothy where he sat, right in the middle of it, crisscross applesauce, face buried in his hands.

The shoeboxes he piled around himself were each filled to overflowing with the kind of artifacts that were meaningless to everyone else and priceless—complicated—to him. One contained love letters his father wrote, each dated, starting about a year before his parents were married and ending a few days before his father died. Another box contained the pieces of the conch shell he and Ben knocked off the table when they were running around the house that same week. Some shards still had yellowed streaks of dried glue along the edges from when his mom tried to stick it together and gave up.

Timothy lifted his red face from his wet palms and picked up another box. His name was neatly printed on the lid. In smaller print below that, it said, You will be the one to find this.

Timothy grunted. A tear spilled from the corner of his eye then rolled hot down his cheek. God dammit. He ran his palm over the cardboard lid. This was heavier than the love notes but lighter than the conch. When he tilted it from side to side, something slid and clunked.

Timothy didn't want to open it. This was just like his mom. She always singled him out, saddled him with something, and every time she did, it always looked simple from a distance. Up close, it was always big, messy, and complicated. He looked at the boxes stacked in front of him, two high. He knew he was the only person to whom one was explicitly addressed because he was the responsible one. He was the one who cleaned up after whatever disaster. Death, flood, earthquake, deities descending from the sky to rain cleansing fire; good old Timothy would be here with the broom, the vacuum, the phone book full of contractors’ numbers. So, she had left him this box.

He lifted the lid.

Timothy's hand trembled, so the empty mason jar danced on the box's flimsy floor. It was accompanied by a sealed envelope, nothing written on it.

Timothy laughed, a single loud bark of pure relief. This was like her to assign such importance to some meaningless thing.

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