Mr. O’Malley’s Attic


My parents suck. I smashed up Mr. O’Malley’s old ratty mailbox. My punishment is dusting the old fart’s entire house for two weeks while he sits outside. He always sits outside. He’s so old he can’t really move. But he has a pile of stones he throws at us kids when we happen across his yard while playing tag or football.

‘Get off her!’ he yells and then ZING! They really hurt.

Each day, I cleaned a room for hours. He’d periodically come in and yell profanities at me. “You don’t know what you’re doing!” “Clean faster!” “You missed a whole wall!” I’ve had two weeks of his crap. Today’s my last day. And after the hell he’s put me through, I think it’s time for his punishment.

I’ll smash more than that old mailbox. I wonder what he’s got in his attic.

I climb the stairs and open the creaky old door to the attic. It’s dark with only a sliver of light shining through a vent. But it’s enough to see that he’s got four stone pedestals sitting in a circle. Each has something on it: a clump of old red crap that looks like it might have been flower petals in another life, an old yellowed piece of paper, a silver ring and a glass bottle.

He must really love this stuff.

To start, I figure I can tear up that precious paper. As soon as I touch the paper, I’m jerked back and the room fills with light. Suddenly, I see my dad. But he’s not my dad. But I know he’s my dad.

“You know, every O’Malley's for the past six generation has been in a navy. You were meant to be in the Navy. Give those Nazi’s hell.”

I drop – no – I throw down the draft notice and the room fills with darkness again.

My eyes are adjusting to the light when I stumble into a pedestal. My hand smacks into the pile of rose dust. Again the room fills with light and the dust forms up into a living rose in my hand. And I’m giving it to a beautiful girl. She’s smiling at me and I love her. I didn’t even realize I could love someone this much, but I do.

She’s wearing funny clothes, but I don’t care. I could stay in this moment forever. I’m so in love.

But then the room darkens again and the rose flings out of my hand and explodes into a cloud of fine dust.

Desperate for more of that feeling, I reach for the silver ring. Suddenly, I’m putting the ring on her hand. She’s older than before and I’m in uniform.

A priest beside me speaks. “May I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Adam O’Malley.”

A roar of cheering fills the hall and my lovely bride and I run down the aisle. I see a table filled with gifts and my mailbox is there, nestled beside some boxes wrapped in white.

I turn to look at the mailbox, but I lose connection with the ring on the pedestal and I swing up against the glass bottle.

For a moment, everything zips in fast forward. The bottle is filled with pills and I’m giving them to my young wife. She’s in bed. And the sun goes up and comes down dozens of times and the bottle gets emptied. And she gets skinnier. And paler. And then, holding the empty bottle, I’m standing in my front yard. The priest now stands in front of a hole. And men lower my bride.

Suddenly, the door flies open. “Out!” Mr. O’Malley roars. “Get out!”

Afraid for my life and stricken with the most intense sorrow I’ve ever felt, I sprint home. And I vow to save my allowance to fix up Mr. O’Malley’s old mailbox.