The Days and Months We Were First Born- the Unraveling Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Christopher Hunter
around.
Everything was in its familiar place. There was the brown marble flooring at my feet, the mahogany dining set to my left, the living room with black leather furniture to my right, and dead ahead were the twin metal staircases that led to the bedrooms and study. Right underneath the second level, where the staircases met at the top, was the digital picture frame that rotated the images of my family. The pictures were in black and white, and we each had big smiles. Beyond the staircases were the kitchen, the entertainment room, and a small bathroom with the door closed. I could also see the rail of the back deck and the horizon of the blue ocean through the patio door.
This was my parents’ dream home. They bought it in 2056, after the large estates of Southampton were broken into seaside neighborhoods. As a family, we drove out from Manhattan to spend weekends and large swaths of summer at our getaway house. But as the years went on, my brother and sisters grew older, had families of their own, and moved to different parts of the world; I graduated from high school, found roommates, and began college at NYU; and my parents retired from their jobs, sold their condo in the city, and moved to Long Island to live full-time.
During the holidays, my brother and sisters flew in, and we all stayed together under one roof.
My nieces and nephews, five in total, ran all over the place. My father and brother watched sports in the entertainment room. My mother and sisters had long talks in the living room. And for the most part, I was in my bedroom, either on the phone with a girl or reading a book on my e-reader. (I had no patience for loud kids, no attention span for chatty women, and no interest at all in sports.) .
However, when it was dinnertime, we all sat at the mahogany table, and enjoyed our meal as a whole family.
The house was in order, but my parents were gone. So I began to search for clues.
I checked the bulletin board in the kitchen. The board was always a good spot to start. My mother chronicled her life with the thing; she was very meticulous in that way. But when I reached board, it was blank. The thing was as blank as the day it was made. There wasn’t even a pushpin. I shook my head in disbelief. It was complete blasphemy.
I went to check the communications console, a wooden desk in the living room with two mobile phone docks and a small screen for video conferencing. It was where my parents had called me from the day before. I figured if anything, someone at least had left a message. But when I reached console, it wasn’t functioning. The screen was black and there wasn’t a dial tone. Everything was connected properly, but still, nothing.
Next, I went upstairs to my parents’ bedroom. As I walked through the door, the motion detector turned the lights on. And inside, the room was neat. Professionally neat. As if no one had ever slept there. The large, blue quilted bed; the handsome, hard-plastic furniture; and the neat pictures on the walls. It was all so very perfect.
All except for one thing.
It was a piece of paper, half-tucked under the pillows on the left side of the bed.
I walked over, grabbed the suspect object, then I unfolded it. It was a note, written in my mother’s handwriting:
To anyone who finds this,
Donald and I are out to sea. We took the Voyager Jacob to spend our final days sailing the Atlantic. It was what we had always wanted. To our friends, we thank you for being in our lives. You have made our years here in Southampton so memorable. To our children and grandchildren, we will miss you so much, and wish we could have seen you again. But it is fitting that we remember each other for the best of times, and not for what has fallen upon our family. To those who may survive, never forget the proud people you came from. Carry the torch forward, and represent us well in your hearts and in your actions. For the last time in this life,
Olivia Jacob
July 29, 2068
I put
Everything was in its familiar place. There was the brown marble flooring at my feet, the mahogany dining set to my left, the living room with black leather furniture to my right, and dead ahead were the twin metal staircases that led to the bedrooms and study. Right underneath the second level, where the staircases met at the top, was the digital picture frame that rotated the images of my family. The pictures were in black and white, and we each had big smiles. Beyond the staircases were the kitchen, the entertainment room, and a small bathroom with the door closed. I could also see the rail of the back deck and the horizon of the blue ocean through the patio door.
This was my parents’ dream home. They bought it in 2056, after the large estates of Southampton were broken into seaside neighborhoods. As a family, we drove out from Manhattan to spend weekends and large swaths of summer at our getaway house. But as the years went on, my brother and sisters grew older, had families of their own, and moved to different parts of the world; I graduated from high school, found roommates, and began college at NYU; and my parents retired from their jobs, sold their condo in the city, and moved to Long Island to live full-time.
During the holidays, my brother and sisters flew in, and we all stayed together under one roof.
My nieces and nephews, five in total, ran all over the place. My father and brother watched sports in the entertainment room. My mother and sisters had long talks in the living room. And for the most part, I was in my bedroom, either on the phone with a girl or reading a book on my e-reader. (I had no patience for loud kids, no attention span for chatty women, and no interest at all in sports.) .
However, when it was dinnertime, we all sat at the mahogany table, and enjoyed our meal as a whole family.
The house was in order, but my parents were gone. So I began to search for clues.
I checked the bulletin board in the kitchen. The board was always a good spot to start. My mother chronicled her life with the thing; she was very meticulous in that way. But when I reached board, it was blank. The thing was as blank as the day it was made. There wasn’t even a pushpin. I shook my head in disbelief. It was complete blasphemy.
I went to check the communications console, a wooden desk in the living room with two mobile phone docks and a small screen for video conferencing. It was where my parents had called me from the day before. I figured if anything, someone at least had left a message. But when I reached console, it wasn’t functioning. The screen was black and there wasn’t a dial tone. Everything was connected properly, but still, nothing.
Next, I went upstairs to my parents’ bedroom. As I walked through the door, the motion detector turned the lights on. And inside, the room was neat. Professionally neat. As if no one had ever slept there. The large, blue quilted bed; the handsome, hard-plastic furniture; and the neat pictures on the walls. It was all so very perfect.
All except for one thing.
It was a piece of paper, half-tucked under the pillows on the left side of the bed.
I walked over, grabbed the suspect object, then I unfolded it. It was a note, written in my mother’s handwriting:
To anyone who finds this,
Donald and I are out to sea. We took the Voyager Jacob to spend our final days sailing the Atlantic. It was what we had always wanted. To our friends, we thank you for being in our lives. You have made our years here in Southampton so memorable. To our children and grandchildren, we will miss you so much, and wish we could have seen you again. But it is fitting that we remember each other for the best of times, and not for what has fallen upon our family. To those who may survive, never forget the proud people you came from. Carry the torch forward, and represent us well in your hearts and in your actions. For the last time in this life,
Olivia Jacob
July 29, 2068
I put
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