Work Text:
Unpacking Memories--
Alan carefully lifted the box down from its spot on the garage storage shelf and carried it over to the air hockey table.
He opened the box, coughing a little at the dust that action raised. Underneath a stuffing of newspapers was a rectangular package of bubble-wrap. He unwrapped it and stared at the distantly familiar challah board.
It had been a wedding present from Margaret’s grandmother, a wooden cutting board painted with bright elaborate designs of animals, birds, vines and trees. When they had first gotten married, it had sat on display on the coffee table, but anything remotely breakable had been put away by the time Don was two. They’d gotten it out a few times after that, but Margaret had always been the one to initiate it. Little Charlie had loved that board, would stare at it for hours then try to explain to him and his mother about the Golden Ratio and Fibonacci and magic numbers.
The napkin holders underneath matched the board, as did a bread knife. Six napkin holders … Interesting that six would turn out to be the number in his family, after all. They’d originally planned on more kids, but after the trouble Margaret had experienced with Charlie, that plan had been abandoned. Now, they had five men and a little girl. He wondered what Margaret would think about their family now.
He smiled wryly and set aside the board, napkin holders and knife. He knew exactly what she would think – ‘If the boys are happy, I’m happy.’ Too bad he himself couldn’t make it that simple.
Next out of the box was a red glass plate in the shape of an apple and its matching honey dish. Just what he needed for Rosh Hashanah. It even had a new year's greeting on it. Following that were multiple pairs of candlestick holders and different kinds of candles. His favorite pair was a gorgeous set of glass and silver holders that Alan’s cousin, Sally, had given them. They had silver bases and silver cups and, in between, silver filigree around an amber glass core.
The candlesticks had been wrapped in a challah cover, made of raw silk backed with velvet. It was dark blue and cream and had Hebrew letters on it, but Alan couldn’t remember what they meant. He better look that up before he used it.
Underneath the candlesticks was a kiddish cup and matching coaster. It was a large ceramic goblet with a colorful, hand-painted landscape of Jerusalem around the bowl and down the thick stem. It came with a matching coaster that had a tiny chip out of one side. Alan remembered Margaret helping a toddler-aged Don take his sip of grape juice from the cup, his tiny hands held inside Margaret’s elegant ones.
Finally, he pulled out the havdalah set that had been the wedding present from Margaret’s grandmother. She’d only lived for a few years after their wedding, but enough to see her first great-grandchild born. Alan carefully dusted off the multi-colored square glass plate with Hebrew letters etched into it – more Hebrew he’d need to look up – and matching candle-holder, goblet, and spice box. Oh, right, spices … He’d have to add that to his shopping list. Good thing he’d already found a Jewish market that had an extensive deli. He didn’t think he was up to cooking a whole feast, along with the other things.
He stared at these things, these remnants of a different life, and felt a terrible emptiness in his chest. He carefully repacked the items and took them into the house. He left the box on the kitchen counter and went to talk to Margaret.
“Hey, honey,” Alan said as he wiped leaves from Margaret’s tombstone. He sat down on a little tripod chair that he kept in the car for this purpose. “Things have been a little tough lately. I wish you were here …” He sighed and stared at her name etched in granite for a long moment.
“You know how we had that long conversation when Don decided to join the FBI? I hated the FBI and everything it stood for. Back when we were young, the FBI were bad guys, at least that’s what we believed. Maybe not as bad as the CIA or others, but definitely not an organization you want your son to become part of.”
He clasped his hands in front of him and frowned. “I remember how you said we have to let the boys follow their own paths. But why have both of our boys’ paths led to violence? Did we do something wrong? And to have both of them fall in love with other violent men? Why?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I just don’t know. I wish you were here.”
Alan sighed and sat for a moment longer. He hadn’t found answers here, or anywhere else he’d tried. Maybe he could find answers in their upcoming rituals. Or at least be able to look his family in the eye and say that he tried.
What the items Alan unpacks look like -- challah board and knife, napkin rings, apple plate, candlestick holders, challah cover, kiddish cup, havdalah set (though the candle is wrong)
