The house wasn’t victorian. It was old and simple. The cracked cement steps led to the tall and thin house. The yellow paint on the house chipped from its sides, showing the worn wood from underneath. The house was nothing special but it was home for the time being. Moving into the unfamiliar setting was exciting for my sister and I. We thought the house was ancient. Our dad had lived in the house with his parents and siblings before we were born, so naturally, it had to be. Everything was just so different from our old house, the plastic rug that felt funny under our feet as we walked through the front door, the Television with the chubby buttons, the scratchy cushion couch, and the odd attic, that was connected to the room I stayed in with my family. Everything about the house was unique and unsimilar to my sister and I. This house gave my sister and I all the more reason to explore for hidden treasures.
Everyday my parents left for their hours of work, leaving my sister and I to spend the day with our Grandpa. My Grandpa had lived alone in the house for a while, so there wasn’t much to do around the house for kids. The only solution we had was to tap into our imaginations. We were constantly able to figure out things to do with ourselves, rather it was feeding the fake fishes, with wood chips inside of bottles, from the top of the jungle gym, playing cooking in the kitchen using the beat up pans and pots we found on top of the stove, riding down to Aldi in a car with no seat belts, or listening to our Grandpa play his gongos, while he muttered lyrics in haitian. These things became our daily routine and we never got bored. I guess when you’re young you tend to enjoy the smaller things in life, and that was what we did.
Enjoying the smaller things in life allowed us to be more adventurous. Being in a new environment was just the map we needed to start our very own treasure hunt. While our Grandpa watched TV in his room, we took the initiative to explore the one place we hadn’t, the attic. The room that we shared with our parents had a door that led to the attic. My sister and I were always curious to what could possibly be up in the attic , but never found the time out of our regular schedule to go on the hunt. That day was different though. We were ready for the hunt. We just had to figure out who was going up the stairs first.
“Why don’t you go first and I’ll follow?” I asked my sister as we stood in front of the door that led to the fortune we were seeking. In my head I was thinking if there was anything up there, it would grab my sister first, which would give me enough time to run down the stairs to get my Grandpa. It was the perfect plan.
“I don’t think so, you go.” She said with her arms crossed.
After a few seconds of going back and forth with who should go first. I ended up going first. Til this day that hadn’t changed. “Why do I always have to go first?” I mumbled.
“Because I’m older.” She snickered.
I rolled my eyes to the sky. “By one minute.”
“Yes, a minute more than you.”
I held myself back from responding, knowing once we got started it was never going to end unless one of us allowed the other to get the last word, and that rarely ever happened.”Fine, lets just get this over with.”
I led the way up the dark wood stairs, each step groaning under our weight. The only light source was the light from the small window, mini dust fragments floated through the light. “What is that smell?” My sister asked as she covered her nose by pressing her upper lip to the bottom of her nose.

“Dust?!” I half asked.

My sister stared blankly at me for a minute and then shook her head. “Dust doesn’t have a smell and your an idiot..”

We walked amongst the green carpet that was laid throughout the attic floor, examining our surroundings. Wood planks lined the walls and dirt filled the air. It seemed like no one hadn’t stepped foot up there since forever. It was any other normal attic. That was until we saw the closet in the corner of the attic. “Awe, what is that over there?” My sister had pointed out.

We walked over to the closet in the corner. It was slanted off to one side, leaving just enough room for a crawl space. We stuck our heads inside, catching spiderwebs in our face. “Gross,” we said in unison.

After swiping the webs off our face we went back to investigate.What we found were a few dolls scatter on the floor. “Hey, look at that.” I said as I pulled one of the dolls out and passed it to my sister.

“Oh, I like this one,” I told my sister as I retrieved a life size doll from the back of dark closet. I inspected the doll. She was tan and had short brunette hair, which looked like it had been cut. She wore a yellow dress, that was tattered at the hems. “How old do you think they are?”

My sister shrugged. “Really old,”

I stared back at her. “No really,” I whispered, sarcastically

That wasn’t exactly the answer I was looking for but I went with it for the time being. It wasn’t until I went to my Auntie’s house I got my answer. “Well, this was my sisters doll.” My Auntie told us. “She used to love this doll. You should take care of this.”


Sadly, as I grew, my mind had slowly forgotten about the precious doll from the attic and I didn’t hold on to it like I should had. To this day the only thing I have left of my Aunt Marie is a photo and her name has my middle name. The doll only remains in my mind has a vague memory of the great time I had with my twin sister.