Filing my dreams…
So many stands, dressers, and wardrobes filled the largest event center in town. People had arrived in trucks and vans, a whole storm of them piling out since early this morning. They were not polite, and they certainly were not shy. Not one nice word was spoke, not one kind look was sent my way. I had tried to stay outside, making the loop around the large pond all day, but I was beyond weary. Not to mention, I was shaky from not eating since before daylight.
People were in that beautiful building, behaving like they had never seen furniture before. There were some pretty pieces, but what was inside is what drew one to open a drawer. If you even tried to guess what was laying in there, you would be completely wrong each and every time. I had known this since I was a little girl.
My Mamaw lived a few blocks from my mother and daddy, an myself. She was always so much fun, an I wish I could have spent every day with her during the summer or stay the night on weekends.
This might seem strange, but I never opened too many drawers. I would take the handles carefully in my hands, sliding the drawer out quietly, then slowly let the handles out from my fingers.
Each time, the drawer held handmade doilies and tablecloths. Mamaw had made them, and they were beautiful. I would gently run the back of my hands over the top. Not once did I dig down under to the bottom of the drawers.
I missed her so much. I would love to hear her laugh one more time. Or see her peeking around the corner as I closed a drawer. While others were inside finding different treasures in a frantic search for instant wealth, loading up their vans and trucks, I was heading home.
Suddenly, I was filled with the strongest desire to go open that drawer one more time. Maybe under the handmade doilies and tablecloths, a photo would appear. A photo of Mamaw an I, and we are playing in front of her house on a warm summer day.
