My grandmother owned a two-family house on the outskirts of the city. My aunt, my grandmother's oldest daughter, lived on the first floor with her husband and the youngest of their two daughters. My grandmother lived alone on the second floor. The third floor, which was a finished attic, was empty.
When I was about seven or eight years old, all I remember about my uncle was that he was a chain smoker. He was at least ten years older than my aunt. Many years later, I discovered that he had served in WWI.
The youngest of the two daughters was at least twelve years older than me - nineteen or twenty. She seemed to have adopted me as the little kid brother she never had - buying me toys and treating me to ice cream. I can still remember the time she took me to a magic show. For the next few days, I was fascinated by magic tricks.
I briefly remember the older sister living in the house before she got married and moved out. My aunt and uncle also had a son, the oldest of the three. He lived somewhere else with his wife. And having fought in the Korean War, he was also a veteran.
My older brother and I and our cousin would often visit my grandmother. We were always looking for something to do. Sometimes we would go into the backyard and make bows and arrows out of forsythia branches. Or maybe we would poke around in the little red barn when it was still there. Or we would walk down the street to the drugstore and buy popsicles and comic books. Once, on Veterans Day, we walked a few blocks into the city to watch the parade. One day, we went to the circus. And I remember when we went to see the movie Robin and the Seven Hoods starring Sammy Davis Junior and Frank Sinatra.
But one of our favorite things to do every so often was to explore the attic. It had several rooms, each a different space with a different mood or character. Most of the rooms were nearly empty, but we would search the closets as if we would suddenly find something we had not seen before.
One day, when I was poking around in the attic, I opened a large trunk I might have overlooked before or never examined thoroughly. It contained some old clothes, maybe a hat that belonged to my aunt when she was younger, and a few other nondescript items. Then I found something exciting and somewhat frightening buried beneath a pile of scarves and women's gloves - an old handgun.
I tried to squeeze the trigger, but it wouldn't budge. I figured the gun was old and probably rusty inside or jammed. I brought it downstairs to show my grandmother. She immediately grabbed it away from me, never to be seen again. She said my cousin had used it when he was in Korea.
Story and Cover Illustration Copyright © 2022 by Michael DeFrancesco