The Accounts of Ruby Zibane: The Heirloom

Chapter 3

*Author's Note*

I appreciate every single read and because of those reads I've exceeded my internal goal of 100 reads! Yay! But I'd greatly appreciate it if those who do read my story and are silent readers post a comment. Even a :) would be nice.

Anyways, not to make this note too long I'd appreciate some comments! Thanks and enjoy this chapter! (Apologies for confusingness or errors)

New Goal: 10 comments

Chapter 3

            When you lose a contest or a game you get a sinking feeling, as if all the blood is escaping your body. I feel that right now. My body feels so numb and cold and I feel so disoriented that I hadn’t realized I had walked into his room.

            It’s in disarray as usual but not in its usual state of messiness. His clothes that were always folded neatly in his drawer and closet (I do the laundry most of the time) are now scattered around the floor. I absently step over the articles of clothing until the most obvious clue hits me.

            My dad has a special little closet for his suitcases, bags, luggage, and those little shampoo bottles you get at hotels. When I come into view of the closet I find that it’s wide open. I flick on the light and take a peek inside. The way he arranges his luggage and enjoys arranging it is almost disturbing. Compared to the messiness of his room (and the rest of the house for that matter) his Luggage Lode as I’ve come to call it is surprisingly neat. His suitcases of various colors and materials are arranged in neat stacks on the ground and his duffel bags and satchels are arranged on either shelves or hooks. A few backpacks and other supplies are arranged on a shelf just out of my reach. I take in the closet and press my lips tightly together when I find out one of each of his various supplies of luggage is missing.

            I try to tell myself it’s just a coincidence but I really know it isn’t. I run out of his Luggage Lode and run around the house. I scream ‘dad’ and ‘Clyde’ over and over again for a hope that I’ll get a reply. A million possibilities go through my mind as I explore the garage. What could’ve happened when he was in his room? Was he kidnapped or abducted? Is he hiding? Is he dead? Did he leave me…?

            I look up from searching under a car and see that none of the vehicles are missing. An idea suddenly floats into my frazzled thought. It’s an idea so obvious, so plain, that it makes me want to slap myself for not thinking of it sooner. I do scold myself as I rush back to my dad’s Luggage Lode and all at once feel silly for doing so.

            I do pride myself for figuring it out though. Whenever my dad goes somewhere to do whatever a historian does he always buys and or prints out two maps of the place he’s going. And for some reason he always comes home with two other maps of the place he just visited even though he tells me he’ll probably never visit that place again. I’ve always figured because of his absent mindedness he just has an extra one as a spare.

            You see, my dad keeps newly printed out maps or newly bought maps in a special shelf in his Luggage Lode behind the door. Before he leaves for business he takes a map of the place he’s visiting and bam! I immediately know where he’s going thanks to the missing copy and the extra copy he leaves behind.

            With shaky hands I open the door to his Luggage Lode and flick on the light to have a better view of his collection of maps. I close my eyes as I do so, praying only one map is gone and that he only went somewhere to blow off some steam. What I see makes me go weak kneed. Half of the collections of maps are gone.

                   I shake my head to make sure I’m not hallucinating but what I see is true. My dad separates the maps into two sections that he labels. One label reads ‘Maps for Travel’ and the other reads ‘Extra Copies.’ I look and find that all the extra copies are gone for some reason.

                   “It has to be a joke,” I whisper. I pull out my cell phone that’s been in my pocket for some time. I’m relieved to find that the previous field trip hadn’t ruined it. I dial my dad’s number and listen to the telephone ring in my ear. It goes directly to an automated voice mail and that always means his phone is turned off.

                   I scream loudly and I wouldn’t be surprised if a neighbor had called the police. In my rage I throw my phone into a corner of the room and begin to sob. I come to a saddening revelation that my dad had abandoned me. And for what? He abandoned me all for a stupid medallion.

                   I look up slowly and it’s as if a whole new world has opened before me. The medallion was obviously valuable. What was it my dad said nine years ago? The medallion was an heirloom, it was basically priceless, and it was from ancient times. That leaves out eBay.

                   I’m not crazy enough to do the unthinkable, was I? That medallion is long gone, probably drained out in the ocean. But what would it take to get my dad back? Surely I’m not expected to go out just to find a donut shaped rock? My dad could come back at any moment, but I honestly didn’t expect that. Am I willing to travel and search from ocean to ocean?

                   I stand up on shaky legs and swallow. I turn and walk towards my room, wiping my eyes. When I get there I get down on my knees next to my drawers and begin to pack my clothes.

                   My hands hover over a stack of my clothes. I don’t even know the first steps to packing clothes. Heck, I don’t even know how to travel! The farthest I’ve traveled was to Canada and I basically had a panic attack on the plane. I sigh and stand up. First I’d need something to carry my clothes in. I stride back to my dad’s Luggage Lode and flick on a light. I pick out a red satchel covered in gems my dad had originally bought for me but I never used. I then pick out a pastel purple wheelie backpack and a black suitcase with a golden latch. Not sure whether or not this is enough I pick out a small canary yellow duffel and another suitcase.

                   When I lug all the luggage back into my room I begin packing. I hesitate every time I pack a t-shirt or jacket or sweater. Every time I do I expect my dad to come into my room, look at me packing stuff into his luggage, and laugh loudly until he loses his breath. I keep doing this until I’ve packed almost all my jeans and sweaters. He never shows up. I sigh and try to keep tears from escaping my eyes.

                   Unsure of the places I’m going to have to go I pack summer clothes, formal clothes, winter clothes, and a few uncategorized clothes. I’ve stuffed the two suitcases, the yellow duffel, and the pastel purple wheelie backpack. The only thing I haven’t stuffed is the red satchel, which could pass for a very fancy purse. I think of what to put inside it and my mind clicks. I rush to where my bed is and toss the throw pillow to the foot of the bed. Under my pillow I keep my wallet that has been stuffed with money over the years. I pick it up and dump out its contents onto my bedside table. I swiftly count up the money, having to redo my counting at least three times. Math was never my best subject. Once I’m satisfied with my counting I add up the stacks of dollars. Two hundred seventy dollars and eighty-nine cents is my outcome (with a Canadian dollar as a side.) I put the money back into my wallet and put the wallet in my satchel. I also stuff a pair of gloves and a pack of gum into the satchel. Once I’m satisfied that I’m completely packed I change into a pair of comfortable jeans, a fuzzy long-sleeved sweater, and a knitted hat with kitty ears at the top. When I look at myself in the mirror I lose the hat and put my hair into a ponytail instead.

                   One voice in my head praises me for being so courageous, while another voice scolds me for making such an irresponsible and reckless choice. And yet another voice questions me on my fashion sense these days. I force myself to silence the voices and I tear my gaze away from the mirror.