rays of sunlight // Antoine Griezmann

Chapter 1

Current Time

I watch the dust float in the air of the old, creaky attic, the rays of sunlight coming in from the small window, allowing me to see how old and dusty it really is up here.

Boxes, pictures, old furniture. There is a pit in my stomach, but I can't cry. I honestly want to cry- it's the only thing that seems to get at least some of all these bottled emotions out. But I've cried all my tears out- I'm dry now, and I'm sure I'll never cry again, based on all the tears I've cried lately.

I sigh, staring at a pile of boxes. I don't think any of this stuff is Mama or Papa's, which is good. I don't want to think about them yet. I can't think about them yet. Not now. Just not yet.

There is old, dusty furniture all over, most with metal springs sticking out and old flowery covers that have faded with all these years. I recognize one of them as my grandfather's old armchair, that he used to love to sit in when he was a kid. Then it became my father's armchair, and sat in the corner of the living room for years. My father used to love to sit in it when he was a boy, too. I used to love to sit in it when I was a girl. But when we got new furniture after my mother passed away, he stuck all the all stuff up here in the attic, to attached to it to let it go, but it being too old to stay in our living room. I remember at the time I was sad to see it go, but I got over it.

Now I sit down in this old chair, avoiding the old spring sticking out of it. I sneeze when dust comes up when I sit down in it. I look all around the attic, then hold my head in my hands. I have a headache as if I've been crying, but as stated, I've cried all the tears I can.

I look to a old, unstable bookshelf shoved next to this old chair. My heart beats a little faster when I realize what all the books sitting here are. Photo albums, each with years scribbled on the spine. They go all the way back to when my grandparents were kids- My grandfather lived in this exact same house when he was a boy.

I want to get out of this town, and leave it all behind, but I can't, because it's all too familiar. My family has been here for years- I just feel like I can't leave it all behind like that. Would my father be disappointed if I left it? For some reason, I feel like he would be. And out of everything, wherever my father is now, I would never want to disappoint him. Ever.

Although I know, somewhere in the back of my head, I should be cleaning up this attic- letting go of things I care about all in the name of decluttering- I get lost in the sight of all these albums. I know it will just empty me even more to look at these, but I could force me to cry. I hate crying- I always have- but crying is better than this. Whatever this is...

I grab a photo album that is photos of the first three years of my life. I know it is going to hurt to see my parents, and my two brothers and sisters... But despite my feelings, I can't stop my hands from being drawn to the heavy book of pictures.

I start flipping through it, looking at the baby pictures of me, and all my older siblings holding the newborn baby me. I look so happy and innocent. There is the picture of the first time I've ever walked... I picture of me and my siblings snuggling...

Then I come across a picture of two babies- one of them is me, I know that much, but it takes a moment to recognize the other, a baby with big blue eyes and a huge smile.

Then it hits me who this is, and my eyes widen.

This is me and an old childhood friend, Antoine Griezmann. We were both born on March 21, in the same hospital, in the same year, in this town, an hour apart. And from there on, we were like brother and sister.

I tried to forget about him, of course, after he left at age fourteen to chase his dream of being a pro footballer. I was so attached to him, but I knew those ties had to break, so I let them, trying to forget. I made a point not to follow his football career. I used to love football, but I was so upset when he left, I didn't want to even see a football, ever again, in my whole life.

I haven't thought deeply about him in years, until now.

I quickly put this album back on the shelf, grabbing the one in which I am ages seven to nine, assuming this must be the one with the most pictures of the Antoine boy. I remember I was very close with him... And right now, I long to remember, to look at proof of memories. To bring memories back... My family is lost right now, and I don't want to think about them, just like right after Antoine left, I didn't want to think about that then, either.

But now I do, because I don't remember, and I long to. And it's been so long, it won't ache anymore. At least not as much as it will ache to think about my father, mother, and siblings.

I don't know. Maybe someday I'll be sitting in the attic once again, looking back at photos of my family, once my mourning is over, and I just want to look back and remember.

I don't know, though. I mean, sure, Antoine Griezmann left my life years ago, but not in the same way. As far as I know, he's still alive, somewhere on this earth, hopefully off being a pro somewhere and being rich and famous... But my siblings? Sure, most of them are alive, too, but I never see them, and I have blood ties to them.

And my parents? They really are just gone from this earth.

Will I ever be able to look back at pictures of them in photo albums and smile at the memories, instead of grieve that I'll never, ever, have any more memories with them at all?