Chloe wore overalls and was barefoot with chipped, blue-painted toenails. At five foot three, she was a promising eighteen inches in length when her parents adopted her and took her home. Now, a freshly-lit cigarette dangled from the side of her mouth. Her usually loose, long brown hair was bound up in a pseudo-bun. Renegade tendrils curled about her face and at the back of her neck. She dug in the drawer in search of a paintbrush and felt something cold in her hand. Blowing the hair from her eyes, she pulled out a small, metal object: a Craftsman tapemeasurer dated 1904. It was rusty and round and when she pulled on the tab it crumbled in her fingers. She had stolen it from the old summer Cape house two years before, slipping it in her pocket and holding it there, firmly pressed against her femoral artery where it throbbed, regularly, like a pacemaker or a watch. She brought it home and promptly placed it in the junk drawer in the garage with the intention of trying to forget about it. Chloe had "inherited" a few other unwanted odds and ends from the old house: a black lacquered ashtray, a framed collection of a variety of pressed seaweeds, and a photograph of she and her cousins when they were kids. First her father told her, then he put the house on the market, then it was sold, then he had a month to move everything out and finally, just a day.
The worn tapemeasurer had belonged to Chloe's grandfather. He used it to measure out a bathroom for his wife in their bedroom so she wouldn't have to walk so far to go at night. He measured and cut a new cellar door. Oak. He measured all the kids' heights and marked them on the yellow wall in the kitchen and then measured them all over again the following year. He was white-haired and handsome and he was always old. Chloe and her cousins had grown up in that house with its low ceilings and steep ship stairs and musty, baked ham smell. Chloe looked around the sparse, well-organized garage. Tools hung neatly on a pegboard. Ash from her cigarette fell to the floor and broke like bits of old bee hive. She pocketed the tape measurer, stepped up the single stair, and disappeared inside the house, forgetting all about the paintbrush.
The worn tapemeasurer had belonged to Chloe's grandfather. He used it to measure out a bathroom for his wife in their bedroom so she wouldn't have to walk so far to go at night. He measured and cut a new cellar door. Oak. He measured all the kids' heights and marked them on the yellow wall in the kitchen and then measured them all over again the following year. He was white-haired and handsome and he was always old. Chloe and her cousins had grown up in that house with its low ceilings and steep ship stairs and musty, baked ham smell. Chloe looked around the sparse, well-organized garage. Tools hung neatly on a pegboard. Ash from her cigarette fell to the floor and broke like bits of old bee hive. She pocketed the tape measurer, stepped up the single stair, and disappeared inside the house, forgetting all about the paintbrush.
Very intriguing! your descriptions are very powerful and the flashbacks even more so. This is a great example of how a simple forgotten object can bring back so many memories!
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