No one likes cleaning out the shed, and I that’s why I’m cleaning out the shed now months after I agreed to the task of shuffling through crap of days gone by, playing the game of what to keep and what not to keep with things I swear I’m going to use sometime in the future but never will.
‘This thing is awesome! I remember this! Awwwwww, imma use this someday.’
Most of the stuff we store away in the shed and or attic is just shit we didn’t want to deal with at the moment we put it in there. Like when you move into a new house, you buy new things but refuse to get rid of the old things, wishing them away into a space unseen by the everyday eye.
There is always something in the shed, attic, or shoebox under your bed that will excite a memory of a past experience. I’m not speaking of grief in this instance (or long loves lost), that’s a whole ‘nother nutshell I am not professionally adept to crack. I’m talking about the stuff we hold on to because of a missed opportunity, like, that time we had that cool idea or thought ‘this thing would be useful.
As frustrating a duty as cleaning out your shed is, there are some benefits to subjecting yourself to the sneeze-induced-spider-freak-out-homekeeping that makes it all worth wild: finding that one gem of long lost uselessness that’s going to sidetrack your intentions and disable any progress of fulfillment to that promise you made a few months back.
The Gameboy, circa nineteen ninety-something; I bought this lil Diddy for my wife, The Salsa aka Valerie. She loves Ms. Pac-man and this was before smartphones and touchy screen devices that provide on demand game play. The Gameboy system has a cartridge and runs on batteries, no recharging cords or USB inputs needed.
Ms. Pac-man, specifically, and Tetris — yep, those were The Salsa’s jam. As a kid, she’s alluded to having an addictive personality, which I later would discover extended well beyond biting her nails to a bloody pulp; she’s an addictive gamer. Ms. Pac-man, Soltaire, Tetris (on the Razor Phone), Angry Birds (no half-assing, all five stars or you don’t move on), and currently candy crush — I’m talking level 2000, seriously.
Just as easy as my wife can get addicted to a game, I have the natural ability forget what she told me within seconds of her telling me that thing she was yammering on about.
We need to clean out the shed.
I’ll do it.
When?
I don’t know, tomorrow.
Fast forward three months later and I’m in the shed playing Ms. Pac-man — and loving it by the way.
What that thing she told me about… the shed? I’m pretty sure she said something about Christmas, Easter, Happy Happy Halloween — nope… uh…
Ms. Pac-man withers away from the Gameboy screen and the four nonchalant ghost move about screen as if to dance on my assume grave.
Smug ass ghost.
I reconsider returning to my duties as a respectful husband who does listen to his wife and would like for nothing but to have her arrive home and find that the shed is cleaned and organized to her majesty’s liking. Ms. Pac-man, though; you can’t help but to play and start all over again.
Damn, if this thing was in color.
WATCH OUT FOR THE… In my excitement, I drop the Gameboy, and as I reach towards the floor to retrieve the relic, I notice an open container and loose bungee cords.
Make sure she doesn’t get out.
That’s when I felt her… Don’t even know if she ever had a name. My daughter received it as a gift from my father’s girlfriend at the time–not the bitch but Karen. For years she stuffed it away in her closet until one night whilst watching ‘The Thrones’, I fell asleep. When I awakened I found her next to my computer gazing at me or through me.
Didn’t have to tell me twice. I locked that thing up in the shed and didn’t think anything about it, no worries. That was until now; the ironic lesson learned for not paying attention to your wife when she speaks.
Jerry, Jayla says she heard a crash in the shed.
She probably broke something days ago and “now she hears something.
No. If I remember, I told you those containers were old and some of them looked as if they might collapse.
Just like you told me we need new blinds for our bedroom, right?
Jerry, we need to clean out the shed.
I’ll do it.
When, Jerry, date and time?
I don’t know, tomorrow.
Okay, make sure she doesn’t get out.
Yeah, okay, but I wasn’t paying attention by then, she’d already lost me at Jerry.
As scared do, I high tail it out of the shed, tripping over a storage box first, then scrambling along the ground until I regained the momentum of a confident stride.
I reach the back door; it swings open as I yank the knob towards me.
Inside the sanctuary of my kitchen, I peer out through the lattice of rot iron watching the shed, waiting for the creepy pasta doll to waddle on out of there on her metal platform — or would she hop?
Coast seems clear, but the closing of the shed door is more a job for The Salsa aka Val the Dementor aka V-Love. I’m hoping for the third of the three semblances to my wife’s personality, either one better than the option of going back out there.
Turning away from the door, I see her, the doll staring at me with her lifeless gaze.
I phone my wife.
Val, she got out.