Clutter, clutter, everywhere and nary a place to sit. Coleridge would forgive the parody if he saw the state of their basement– Jacob was sure of it. For the briefest of moments, he had the crazy temptation to call that TV show with the team of dejunkers who would come in and sort and sell it all for him. He shook his head. Procrastination would only make it worse.
A third sweep of the “room” told him what he’d already known. There just wasn’t any easy way to clear a spot. Tiny little paths led to semi-organized sections of the basement, but nothing would work for an “observation deck.” The sight of a few bean bags piled under a table loaded with stuff he dreaded to touch gave Jacob an idea. It wasn’t ideal, but it would help him keep her safely out of the way and comfortable while he worked. Now– to convince Kaye of that.
His foot paused on the first step. Almost as an out of body experience, he felt himself turn and his gaze swept the piles of totes, boxes, bags, and miscellanea that made him gasp for air. He knew the word. What was it? It was one of those fears that took over your body almost like a panic attack. What was it? Jacob glanced around him more and the pressure in his chest felt stifling– smothering. Claustrophobia. That was it. How could he feel claustrophobic in a wide open room with a stairway out?
Jacob closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and climbed the stairs. Surely he’d be fine once Kaye was down there. Pride wouldn’t let him fall apart over a bunch of junk. At least pride was good for something.
She was on the couch, but it was obvious that she’d made a bathroom or snack run. Jacob chose to ignore it. “Well, I can’t make room for you on the basement floor yet. I was counting on you to help me sort, but there’s just no way to make it work until I clear a space.”
“Where will I sit then?”
“On the landing thing. How’d you get all that stuff down there? I can’t imagine how–”
“Because there is a bit of order to it– really. There’s a path through it all. I mean, yeah, I through some stuff down there, but most of it is an organized mess.”
Carrying her across the house wasn’t easy, but it was doable. Down the stairs was another story. Each step jostled her more than the last. He tried hanging her over his shoulders and holding her arms. Didn’t work. Throwing her over his shoulder was only mildly more successful. At last, she pounded on his shoulder. “Put me down. I’ll go down on my rear and you can hold my foot up as I go.”
“Point of note,” Jacob muttered as he nearly stumbled backwards to the landing, “I never want to eat ham again.”
“That makes two of us.”
***
The doorbell rang in the middle of wading through kitchen gadgets, serving platters, roasters, and half-working appliances. If Kaye heard, “But it works!” one more time about a toaster oven with missing knobs or a blender with one working speed, she’d go mad–insane–nutters. The arrival of pizza with mushrooms and pineapple did much to sweeten her disposition, but she wasn’t sure how long that would last. Fortunately, the break, taken from her seat on the “landing” gave Jacob a new perspective.
“Are there really three toasters in the keep pile?”
“Yep.”
“How many are in the kitchen?”
“One in the appliance garage and a spare at the back of the corner cabinet.”
“What about crockpots?”
“Two. I have one small one and one big one.”
“What was wrong with that one again?” Jacob sounded as if he were coming around.
“The crock doesn’t lift out for cleaning. It’s harder to clean with that electrical element. You can’t submerge it.”
He nodded. “I thought you meant harder to clean because of the outside being white. I get that. It should go.”
“What about the coffee makers?”
“We have one upstairs.”
Kaye shook her head. “We have a one cup one and a four cup one.”
“Then it goes.” He looked at a pile of gadgets and utensils. “How much do you think it’d cost to replace all that?”
“We haven’t used it in all these years, why would we replace it?”
“Indulge me. How much?”
Her eyes scrutinized the pile carefully. “Maybe fifty dollars? Most of that is just flimsy plastic stuff that I’m afraid will melt if I put it in a pan.”
“Ok, it goes.”
“Um, Jacob?”
He glanced at her over the rim of his glass of root beer. “Hmm?”
“What did I say about all that stuff?”
“I know, I know.”
“May I remind you of a promise to try to listen to my opinion on this stuff?”
After chewing a mouthful of pepperoni and double cheese, Jacob squared his shoulders. “I did say…”
“Yeah. And we just wasted an hour or two debating and stuff.”
“Why’d you keep this stuff then?”
Kaye shrugged. “Most of it was yours or something you bought. I didn’t want to alienate you by removing your things from your–”
“You sound like one of those books.”
“Well, they did say that people resent it when others try to take charge over real or perceived personal property and time.”
“Never,” Jacob began, “quote a book again. Just tell me what you think.”
“I quoted it because I agree. I ignored a lot of garbage that I didn’t agree with at all.”
Jacob carried their plates upstairs and brought down one of the large boxes he’d brought home for their project. To Kaye’s amazement, it took three of the boxes to eradicate the beautiful array of appliances from the basement. Only the ones that worked perfectly or seemed nearly unused remained. “These for a garage sale?”
As much as she hated the idea of storing things for a garage sale, mid-June was the big neighborhood garage sale. If they could hold on for a few more weeks.–ok, a bit more than a few–then they could get a little money out of this project. That couldn’t hurt. “What if we kept garage sale stuff in the garage? I might have to park in the driveway, but snow should be over for now, right?”
Jacob’s agreement came almost too quickly. However, despite her reservations, Kaye kept plugging at the clutter eradication process in front of her and ignored the work to come. “I just hate the pricing… it takes weeks.”
As if ignoring her, Jacob dashed upstairs. About a minute later, she heard his voice calling from the kitchen as he opened and closed drawers. “Where’s the masking tape?”
“Laundry room in the basket on the top of the cabinet to the left of the first aid kit.”
Silence. At last, his voice preceded him down the stairs. “How’d you know that?”
“Because I found a logical place to put them. Near the tools, but I didn’t want to risk bashing my head in with the tool box every time I needed it.”
He thrust a Sharpie marker at her and dropped the roll of tape in her lap. “I’ll bring up the box and you can price while I start on that pile.”
“That pile” was the excess clothing that she’d been unable to bring herself to toss– combined with the stuff she’d purchased, of course. Kaye sighed. The tables would be reversed here. She’d want to keep it all and he’d want to chuck it. She had to think fast. “I think aside from snowsuits and heavy jackets, we should pick out a summer wardrobe for the kids and get rid of everything else. When school is out, we’ll just take everything out of their drawers and replace with whatever we save today.”
“They can’t wear long-sleeved shirts until the end of May.”
Reason? Regarding clothing? How did that happen? Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. “Well, how about we choose three or four short-sleeved shirts and replace long sleeves with them?” Before he could think too much about it, she added, “Oh, and over there under that tunnel thing is a huge box of candles. Why don’t you bring that up and I’ll price those too.”
“Do we have to price clothes?”
She shook her head as he handed her the obscenely huge box of candles. It was an illness– a huge illness. “Nah, we’ll just sort them into bags. That bag’ll go on a dollar table, the other will be on a quarter table etc.”
The work commenced. Candle after candle had little pieces of tape slapped to the bottom. Twenty-five cents, fifty cents, a dollar. The totals racked up quickly, but they represented a fraction of what Kaye knew she’d spent. What was worse was that the contents of the basement represented a fraction of the stuff she’d hauled away. Despite herself, she had to ask. “Jacob?”
“Hmm?” A grunt followed the mono-syllabic response.
“Do you think the house looks empty now?”
“No. Why?”
“Just curious.”
He straightened up and glanced around him, piles of clothes seemed to have grown into hills that would be mountains later. Scary. Holding his back, Jacob glared at her with a silent demand for explanation. When she ignored it, he threw a t-shirt at her. “Why?”
“I just didn’t think it looked that different than before– except that it’s easier to clean– and yet all this stuff down here and all the stuff I took to the thrift store or threw away…”
“Well, there probably wasn’t this much–”
“More.”
His eyes widened. “Really?”
“Much more. I don’t know where we put it all.”
“Are you sure…” He didn’t sound like he believed her.
“Three times this stuff at least went to the dump or the thrift shop. At least. Games, clothes, broken toys, trashed books, broken appliances that we thought we’d ‘fix’ later–”
“I thought I’d fix you mean.”
“Whatever. The point is, how’d we stuff all this… well, stuff in this house? Why did we?”
“Because we could? I mean, let’s face it, your closet is pretty empty.”
“But everything I took out of there I haven’t worn in at least a year or two… or four… or since before we got married.” Her tone of voice would freak him out, but Kaye couldn’t prevent it. She felt hysterical. Irritated. Terrified. “Am I really one of those women that gets some kind of freakish security from having a ton of stuff?”
“I think you’re an exhausted woman who needs sleep.” Jacob glanced at his phone. “And, considering it’s after midnight, I think it makes sense.”
“Can I have a Vicodin?”
He eyed her with a look that clearly screamed, “You’re freaking me out now.” “Why?”
“My foot hurts, my head hurts, and I’ll never shut off my brain after this.”
Jacob picked up her foot and waited for her to scooch herself back up the stairs. “Well, that’s a first.”
“What is?”
“You asking for pain meds.”
Kaye glanced at the pile of mess in the middle of the stairs. “We can’t leave that there. Someone’ll get hurt.”
“Who? You can’t walk it and there’s no one else here until tomorrow night when I get home. Who can get hurt?”
My heart, Kaye thought to herself. My family is splintered everywhere because of a stupid ham. It’s ridiculous. “Good point. Just don’t forget when you run down to grab a grappling whozzit or a ratcheting thingamajig.”
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