Hindsight is 20/20
By Bettina Painten
My grandmother and her sister had lived here almost their entire lives, and with my Aunt’s passing, it was time to put the old house up
for sale. I took a deep breath and went inside, absorbing my surroundings. These two were always a mystery to me, for they had
many secrets between them.
My brothers and I had learned a long time ago to stop asking questions. I walked over to the bedside table, and saw my Aunts’
glasses. I was filled with sadness and loss; I put them on, wanting to feel closer to her. Suddenly I became dizzy, and plopped down
on the bed, surprised by the overwhelming sense of disorientation.
I heard crying in the other room; I was alone in this house, so this was impossible! Intrigued, I walked toward the sounds of sobbing,
still wearing her glasses. I could see perfectly in them now, but the house seemed newer, and the pictures on the wall were none I
recognized. On the couch in the living room, lay a woman I had never met.
“Why are you crying?” I asked her.
She looked up, clearly recognizing me, and said
“Amelia, you know why I’m crying, please just bring me some tea”
”She thinks I’m my Aunt! This is my great grandmother.” I thought. I went to the kitchen, amazed by what was happening. I knew my
way around here, but it was surreal in that everything was different. The dishes and the appliances were all from the 1940’s. I lit the
stove with the wooden matches I found next to it, and heated some water in the teapot.
I didn’t dare to remove the glasses, for this was a once in a lifetime chance to know what had happened in our family that was so
tragic. I brought the tea into the parlor and set it before my ancestor. Her name was Theresa, and she was beautiful despite the pain
on her face.
“We have to get an outfit ready for your brother to wear.” She said to me.
“Mr. Ferguson needs to have it by this afternoon for the burial.” She continued.
This statement shocked me; my brother? She was talking about a Great Uncle I never knew existed! She rose from the couch and I
followed her up the winding staircase into a boy’s room. She reached into the closet and pulled out a dark blue suit that would look
like it would fit a boy of about twelve. She hurried out of the room, I suspected to keep from falling apart again.
Downstairs, she made her way back to the sofa, and picked up a piece of paper and looked over it, breaking out in fresh sobs. She
folded it to quickly for me to see what was written on it. As if in a daze, she got up and walked across the room. She opened the old
desk, pressed a lever on the inside, and hid it away in a tiny compartment.
She smoothed out the front of her dress and wiped her eyes, as if trying to erase any evidence of sorrow. She turned to me and said
“Amelia please, let’s not talk about him anymore”
My Great Grandmother walked out of the room, and out the front door, leaving me in a stunned silence. I took off the glasses suddenly
exhausted, and thought about what had just happened. I was shocked that I had never heard about my Great Uncle. What was his
name? I wondered. I sprang from the couch and went immediately for the old desk in the corner of the room. I fished around for the
lever to open the secret compartment. My hands found it at once, and it opened to me, revealing a folded piece of paper.
Here it was; my Great Uncles’ death certificate. His name was Robert, and he died of Pneumonia on October 27th 1944. He had died
when he was just 11 years old. I put on the glasses again, ravenous for more details. They only blurred my own limited vision.
By Bettina Painten
My grandmother and her sister had lived here almost their entire lives, and with my Aunt’s passing, it was time to put the old house up
for sale. I took a deep breath and went inside, absorbing my surroundings. These two were always a mystery to me, for they had
many secrets between them.
My brothers and I had learned a long time ago to stop asking questions. I walked over to the bedside table, and saw my Aunts’
glasses. I was filled with sadness and loss; I put them on, wanting to feel closer to her. Suddenly I became dizzy, and plopped down
on the bed, surprised by the overwhelming sense of disorientation.
I heard crying in the other room; I was alone in this house, so this was impossible! Intrigued, I walked toward the sounds of sobbing,
still wearing her glasses. I could see perfectly in them now, but the house seemed newer, and the pictures on the wall were none I
recognized. On the couch in the living room, lay a woman I had never met.
“Why are you crying?” I asked her.
She looked up, clearly recognizing me, and said
“Amelia, you know why I’m crying, please just bring me some tea”
”She thinks I’m my Aunt! This is my great grandmother.” I thought. I went to the kitchen, amazed by what was happening. I knew my
way around here, but it was surreal in that everything was different. The dishes and the appliances were all from the 1940’s. I lit the
stove with the wooden matches I found next to it, and heated some water in the teapot.
I didn’t dare to remove the glasses, for this was a once in a lifetime chance to know what had happened in our family that was so
tragic. I brought the tea into the parlor and set it before my ancestor. Her name was Theresa, and she was beautiful despite the pain
on her face.
“We have to get an outfit ready for your brother to wear.” She said to me.
“Mr. Ferguson needs to have it by this afternoon for the burial.” She continued.
This statement shocked me; my brother? She was talking about a Great Uncle I never knew existed! She rose from the couch and I
followed her up the winding staircase into a boy’s room. She reached into the closet and pulled out a dark blue suit that would look
like it would fit a boy of about twelve. She hurried out of the room, I suspected to keep from falling apart again.
Downstairs, she made her way back to the sofa, and picked up a piece of paper and looked over it, breaking out in fresh sobs. She
folded it to quickly for me to see what was written on it. As if in a daze, she got up and walked across the room. She opened the old
desk, pressed a lever on the inside, and hid it away in a tiny compartment.
She smoothed out the front of her dress and wiped her eyes, as if trying to erase any evidence of sorrow. She turned to me and said
“Amelia please, let’s not talk about him anymore”
My Great Grandmother walked out of the room, and out the front door, leaving me in a stunned silence. I took off the glasses suddenly
exhausted, and thought about what had just happened. I was shocked that I had never heard about my Great Uncle. What was his
name? I wondered. I sprang from the couch and went immediately for the old desk in the corner of the room. I fished around for the
lever to open the secret compartment. My hands found it at once, and it opened to me, revealing a folded piece of paper.
Here it was; my Great Uncles’ death certificate. His name was Robert, and he died of Pneumonia on October 27th 1944. He had died
when he was just 11 years old. I put on the glasses again, ravenous for more details. They only blurred my own limited vision.
New Hampshire Writers Short Stories
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