The summer season is coming to an end and with it the very last time I spoke to you. There are so many raw emotions melded into one. The only place I can think to begin to talk about this – is the basement.
The basement is flooding and the gray cement floor has begun to crack. It smells like mildew down here and the pitted walls are cool to the touch. The cobwebs in the corner are a yearlong decoration now and the ceiling beams rain sawdust upon my head.
The open window does little to eliminate the stench of decay. This is where dreams are stacked and packed and put away to be forgotten. The sun does not rise to shine onto this wasteland, and I prefer it this way.
The radio sitting on the stairs plays static with the occasional lyric breaking through. I prefer it this way.
The uninhabited uniform, hat, shirt, pants, and weathered shoes adorn a lifeless mannequin. The awards, medals, pins, and trophies are haphazardly sitting in a mislabeled box. It is better this way.
The cracked leather jacket still smells like you, adventure and cigarettes.
The memory of you lives amongst these artifacts.
I die.
Water stained stacks of magazines are crumpled in a dark corner. The once glossy pages stick to one another and crackle when I try to turn them. Each ad is a reminder of the lives we were told we were supposed to be living.
Those days are long gone now.
Newspapers no longer bleed ink, they just bleed.
The dusty light bulb on a chain hangs nearby and takes one last jab to the back of my head.
Under the incandescent light, snow globes are revealed and the figures inside are unchanged. Children are still children, carolers remain with mouths agape, street lights still flicker, and a dusting of snow falls whenever they are shaken.
I wish life were that way. I wish you were still here. I wish the memory of you was more than a collection of things that mean nothing without you. I wish I could feel your hand grip mine, just one more time. I wish I could feel the comfort of your voice again.
I wish I could see you again.
There, I said it!
This basement, these things are no comfort at all! There is anger and frustration and guilt and resentment scattered like ashes on this burial site.
There is doubt, impotence, and regret just beneath the surface. There is estrangement, fear, paralysis left behind, but not you!
Summer did away with you, and with me too.
Did You Know? One of the earliest dedicated subterranean storage complexes ever found was discovered in September 2010, archeologists uncovered a 6,100 year old winery and wine cellar, in present day Armenia. Within the underground wine cellar, archaeologists discovered a wine press for stomping grapes, fermentation and storage containers, drinking cups, grape vines, skins, and seeds.
Though evidence of wine has dated back 7,000 years, this is the earliest winery and wine cellar found to date. The findings indicated large scale wine production, quite possibly the earliest retail winery. Archeologists suggest that our early ancestors used wine in ceremonies to honor the dead. It is also thought of as a gift, placed and consumed inside the tombs. Wine-pressing tools have been found installed into burials and tombs, and drinking cups around the graves. Illustrations from that time reflect this evidence.
Early underground spaces were detached or crude pits used to keep food, water, and wine cool. Medieval castles and home kitchens were usually kept separate due to fire risks rather than integrated below ground.
Homes began incorporating subterranean cellars in ancient times as simple root cellars and storage pits, but they became a standard architectural feature in residential homes during the 18th and 19th centuries.
Following World War II, the suburban housing boom transformed underground spaces from raw utility and coal storage into finished “basements” used for laundry, utilities, and living areas.