What Nobody Saw: Day 1

Word Count: 6,110

Summary of Events:

Walker got up and got ready to work on a new job for a repeat customer who owned multiple houses in Winnipeg that he rented out; his newest project for Walker and his coworkers was gutting a midcentury split level so it could be rewired, re-plumbed, and otherwise renovated into a much newer and more appealing place to rent. Because of the house's age anti-asbestos gear was required, and by virtue of being the first man suited up, Walker was assigned the master bedroom, where he started by tearing down the ceiling . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Carefully prying a piece of drywall from the ceiling close to the closet caused not just drywall and insulation, but also some papers to fall down.

One of them was a newspaper. Intrigued, Walker picked it up. It was dated from before Dad had been born — and Dad was going to be fifty four come summer — and had no colour pictures.

He carefully sorted through the other papers, finding a bunch were handwritten notes, plus there were school scribblers, receipts, and other things.

Going back to the boxes by the door, he fetched a transparent blue plastic bag, into which he stuffed all the papers, as company policy was to recycle what could be recycled, it was part of a sustainable business policy that was really helping Vance make strides on the competition by appealing to everyone’s desires to be more environmentally friendly and sustainable.

Besides, Walker thought it made sense, if it could be reused, why shouldn’t it be reused? Not everything old was garbage. Nor was it treasure.

Picking up one of the scribblers, the childish writing on it attracted his attention: My Diere. Diere? What was that? Was that even a word?

He opened it and read the first words: 

Munday, 1 Febuary, 1971, 

Deer Diere,

Dad got mad at Wanda ugen bekuz she wantz to get a noo dres wen Mom alreddy bot her wun in Septembr. He wuz reely mad this tym and I ran away. I ken stil heer him showting at her frum heer. I dont now why he getz so angry, all my frendz hav mor then wun new dres, why cant me and Wanda hav mor? Itz not fare.

It was hard to read the poor spelling, but it helped him to realise what Diere was. It was a corruption of diary. It was the diary of a girl who had terrible spelling — well, at least about fifty years ago.

He put the diary in with the other papers, although he now paid attention to other notes and saw a couple different writing styles, including a neat, flowing cursive that was often writing shopping lists with a frightfully small number like $5 or $10 at the top, and then the items listed with prices even shockingly smaller beside them, all tallying up to the number at the top of the list.

Why was food so expensive these days when back fifty years ago fruit could be had for cents a pound? Was inflation that bad? Sure it might be more than a dollar a kilo, but a person was also getting twice the fruit for a kilo that they got for a pound.

Regardless, he put all the papers into the bag, ensuring to dust any insulation off of them, although he might still be inclined to enquire at the recycling centre if he could turn in recyclables that had asbestos exposure without a warning, or if he had to send it somewhere special — or even if it was recyclable at all.