I didn't know last night when I wrote SOLSC post #17 that there would be a part two today.
I went back downstairs to my back corner room full of boxes and all things school, memory and mess. I had been down there so many times in the day, thinking, "I'll find it. It has to be here...I never would have thrown it away." Each time I went down my hope grew weaker, dissipating to almost nothing. I was beginning to feel a despair that could only be repaired if I found at least a part of what I was looking for. I started looking in places less obvious, calling out in a tone only I could hear "come on Betsy, where is the least likely place, it will be there." These little fragments of hope were continually destroyed when I was again left empty handed. I was now on the opposite side of my basement, ready to retreat, surrender. I whisper, "I could really use your help on this one; where is it?" I again walk into my back room, standing there, defeated. One hand on my head, the other on my hip knowing deep down that I must have thrown it out and it is time to accept it. Knowing I have searched every possible and impossible place; my husband's work table piled high, underneath each shelf, the closet under the stairs, everywhere. I'm sure even the box at my feet that holds all my Nancy Drew books; it's been in my way in that back room all day. There, a small stack of papers tucked in the lidless box. My hand lifts them out, and there it is. In my hand, the little girl, the big tear, the pouty lip. Behind it, on blue paper, my story. The one I once needed to write and the one I now needed to read. I can't even describe the coolness that overcame my body. The electro like charge that ran up my neck and down my spine. The almost unnatural and uncontrollable pull that stretched my face in elation. All by itself, in a box of books that had once been my grandmother's, my mother's, sister's and then mine...possibly the most likely place.