Gold and Rust

White walls lined with opulent gold accents. Greco-Roman figures carved in marble and alabaster. The echoing chorus of voices chattering and heels clicking on the tile floor.

Senneca adjusted her dress, taking in the details but solid in her own place against the wall.

“Congratulations, Senneca!” An older man said as he glided toward her and shook her hand. “This award is well deserved.”

“Thank you, Director Hollein,” she said.

“It’s exillerating to see a piece with this depth of emotion.” The man said, as he touched her elbow to lead her to face a wall with her painting mounted on it. A painting of a young girl kneeling in the dirt, writing in a little black notebook. “I would love to explore the origin and essence of this piece.”

Senneca looked up at her own heavy brush strokes that coalesced as the girl’s tattered dress, the mouse in the yard, the tractor in the background, the girls eyes that followed the viewer.

Senneca let out a small hum and tapped her fingers on her loosely held champagne glass. “I grew up way down South. We were surrounded by nature but not much else. I really wanted my work to show how rough life is out there in the swamp.”

“Oh, it does,” the Director said with a reverberating baritone. “Some artists like to stick to such sterile aesthetics. Refreshing to see someone with an eye for the uncouth.”

The Director then excused himself to socialize with other patrons and Senneca returned to her niche as a wallflower.

“There you are!” Another voice shouted, a younger man in an ill-fitted suit. “You won! You won $10,000!?”

“Oh, Mal. You made it,” She beamed. “And it’s $20,000.”

“My mistake, m’lady,” He teased and hugged her crushingly tight. “This is so awesome. I can’t believe I’m related to a high society painter. I’m so proud of you.”

“Please don’t get sappy, it’s embarrassing,” She choked out from the tight embrace.

“Yeah, it felt weird to say, too.” He chuckled, then raised a bushy eyebrow and continued. “So, what are you going to do with the money?”

“Actually, I was thinking I’d use it to help Mom and Dad,” she replied and swiftly took a sip of champagne.

“For real?!” His voice raucous in the echoing gallery. “With, like, stuff for the house?”

“Yeah, I thought I could help them clear stuff out and pay for some renovations.”

“Senneca, they are not going to let you do that. Spend your money on yourself, build the aviary you’ve been wanting.”

“It’ll be fine, Mal. I’m going down there next week, I think I can get them to at least let me help get that smell out.”

“Sen, the basement flooded and they just left everything down there, sopping wet and rotting. That smell is not going anywhere.”

“Ugh, I forgot they did that,” Senneca said. “I think my High School Yearbook was in my box down there. Do you think it’s destroyed?”

“Sen, don’t give our parents money,” He had a stern but tired expression. “We both know they don’t deserve it.”

Senneca looked back out to the bustling gallery and downed the rest of her champagne. “It’ll be fine.”

Senneca’s car jolted as it rolled over a divot in the dirt road leading to her parents’ place. After several miles, she pulled into a familiar overgrown side street and parked in front of a crooked gate. When she moved to unlatch the rusted lock, the sound of metal on metal alerted a shaggy dog who came bounding toward her.

“Hey, Riff Raff!” Senneca said, petting behind his ears. He leaned against her legs with a wide, goofy smile, his fur tangled and dirty. He rubbed bits of mud on her palazzo pants, and she remembered why she could never wear anything nice here. She brushed off and started down the driveway, Riff Raff close at her heels.

She noted the aged tractor in the front yard that had broken down before she could even remember. Her and Mal used to play on it as kids, but now the goats grazed on the grass that grew between the wheels and the family rooster used it as a perch to sing his abrasive song in the mornings.

“Larry!” She heard her mother’s voice yell. “Don’t throw away these water jugs, we can use them for something!”

Senneca came up to the house to see her mother pulling an empty gallon jug out of the dumpster. “Hey, Mom.”

“Oh, Senneca. Come in,” She said. Scantly addressing her daughter, she opened the door and they both stepped into the house.

The entryway had barely enough floor space to slip by between various piles of boxes and miscellany. Their dining room table was immediately to the left, her father was sitting at it with a bagel and a laptop. Behind his big tortoise shell glasses, his bushy brow was furrowed in concentration.

“Hey, Sen,” He said without looking up. “What brings you out here?”

“Well, I had an art show at a gallery and-“

“Oh! That’s right, you said you won?” Her mother interrupted. “You didn’t go to it dressed like that did you?”

“No Mom, it was a fancy gallery,” Senneca said flatly, pulling at her top that didn’t quite cover her stomach. “But the award comes with a $20,000 prize. I was actually wondering if I could use it to fix up the house a little.”

Her father looked up from his computer for the first time since she walked in. Her parents exchanged a lost glance, then looked back to her.

“What’s wrong with the house?” Her mother asked.

“Mom, come on,” Senneca said. “We can get some of this old junk cleared out, pay someone to take the broken down trucks out of the back yard, get someone to make sure there isn’t mold growing in the basement.”

Her mother’s face turned red, but classic Southern hospitality persuaded her to take a deep breath before talking.

“Did that police officer call you?” Her mother said with a fiery undertone.

“What?!” Senneca jumped. “What police officer?”

“The new people who took the Bariston’s lot didn’t like that we had so much stuff in the yard. Said it was attracting raccoons and rats. Said it was smelly and our animals kept getting into their yard.”

“Mom!” Senneca exclaimed. “Did they fine you?”

“Nah, the officer said it was a warning. But he can’t do anything, it’s my property and I can do what I want with it.”

“The government thinks they can take all our property and turn our country communist,” Her father added.

“Dad, please stay off that website,” Senneca said and pushed his laptop closed. “This is serious. You have to get rid of that junk in and build a new fence. I have the money, let me help you.”

“Why should we?” her mother asked. “That stuff has been out there for years.”

“That’s the problem!” Senneca erupted. “You’re not using that stuff, this is a good opportunity to get it under control and keep yourself from getting in trouble.”

“This is ridiculous,” Her mother said abruptly. “I am not taking one penny from my kid, and you are not taking anything from this house. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go feed the chickens.”

With that, her mother stomped out the front door.

Senneca put her hand to her forehead and growled. “Dad-“

“Nope, this is between you two,” He said and opened his laptop again.

Senneca exhaled an exasperated breath. For a second she thought about following her mother, but ultimately she decided to delve further through the cluttered house. She smelled the mildewy scent of the basement getting stronger as she navigated the house. Riff Raff trotted to catch up to her, jumping around to avoid various stacks of books, boxes, and clothing. He looked to Senneca expectantly as she held her nose and the two descended the uneven steps to the basement.

The humidity was unbearable and stacks of boxes and debris reached the ceiling of the cramped room. Senneca rifled through the jumble. The first box she opened had a broken toaster and cords to who knows what. The next had dozens of VHS cassettes with water stains on their covers. Another was full of expired food her mother bought in bulk when it was on sale.

“Riff Raff, where’s my box?” Senneca said to a blank-faced mutt. She shuffled a few more boxes around, opening one after another, finding things she couldn’t imagine how her mother ended up with. “Of course the one thing they get rid of is my stuff,”

Her head began to pound. Between the smell, the heat, and her frustration, she’d had all she could take of the basement and trudged back up the steps. Back on the ground level she rubbed her temples.

‘Mal was right, I shouldn’t have come back here.’ Her throbbing head repeated on loop.

She walked down a short hall into the next room, and fell onto her parent’s bed. She closed her eyes in an attempt to see something other than red. Taking slow deep breaths, she was able to come back down from the rush of frustration that had washed over her. She opened her eyes and was able to see the room more clearly; able to see the mess of things her parents had hoarded back in this room too. But between unused picture frames and a dusty pile of books, behind a mound of clothes, something caught her eye.

Her name, written in Sharpie on a box.

She slid the box out and tore it open. At the top was her high school yearbook, completely undamaged. She set it aside and underneath were two black notebooks. She opened one to find sketches of plants and animals she drew several years ago. The sketches showed the chittering birds, fleeting mice, and swamp plants peeking from the bogs that she used for reference. She pulled the next notebook, this one was older, more well worn, and had pages of slightly less anatomically correct animals. Under that book she found a paper mache bird her and her mother had made when she was young and a book of native birds. She used to love asking her mother to identify birds with her.

“What are you doing?” Her mother startled her from the open door frame.

“I thought this stuff was in the basement. How did it end up here?” Senneca held up one of the notebooks.

“The basement flooded so I brought it up here,” Her mother said. “There’s a box of Mal’s stuff up here too.”

“You saved this?”

“Well, when you’re a famous artist, those are going to be worth some money,” her mother said half-seriously. She sat down next to her daughter and looked over the notebook solemnly. “Though, you seem like you’re already pretty successful.”

“I wouldn’t be where I am now if it wasn’t for how you raised us.” Senneca said.

“Oh, that’s not true. You did this on your own. We never even bought you art supplies.”

“But we made do with what we had, and that’s what you’re still doing,” Senneca said softly. “I understand why you keep all this stuff. I just want to take care of you.”

Her mother tapped her fingers on a box next to her. “I suppose with it being just your dad and me out here we could stand to fix some things up.”

A wide smile spread across Senneca’s face. “We can go through it together. You don’t need to get rid of all of it, we can take the Marie Kondo approach.”

“Sen, I have no idea what you’re talking about,”

“It means we’ll get rid of the clutter,” Senneca said, handing her the black notebook. “But keep the stuff that makes you happy. The things that you have a sentimental attachment to.”