Dust bunnies and sunlight fill the attic space as I walk past boxes stacked two and three high. In a corner I see what is obviously a full length, antique looking glass. Racks of clothes hung neatly on hangers rest beside it.
Hidden in a corner though, under a pile of sheets and wraps is an old, weathered trunk. Glancing around as though expecting someone to pop out at me and reprimand me for being up here I move over to the trunk.
After clearing the top off with harsh movements I pry the lid open and stare inside. An aged piece of tissue paper rests atop what I have no idea. With hands that tremble I lift the page and set it aside to reveal a multitude of colors. Fingers that have felt the finest of silks that have worn the most beautiful of gems reach out to touch.
Silk, brightly colored, and obviously well cared for and yet it is not the normal silk I’ve felt. This is too perfect, too soft, too much to describe. I lift it out and find more of the same under it.
Quickly with gathering glee I unload the trunk, taking out gowns of silk, scarves, body-suits, stockings until I’ve nearly emptied it of all its contents. Pausing I frown at the black and silver beneath my gaze this is something I do not understand. I lift it out and find to my shock that it’s an old leather uniform much like what I wear now. Each cut is perfect, each stitch carefully in place.
Still as I examine it I see that it has been damaged. There are cuts and holes in it. Marks of a battle that has come and gone. On the dried and cracked leather there are still the stains of blood and I feel a knot form in my throat. I choke back tears as I put it down atop the pile of silk and reach back into the box to full out the next items.
A folded letter, a chain with a ring, another leather jacket. This one old, battered, brown with a thick yellow stripe. As I sit there surrounded by things that make no sense to me I sense someone behind me and I glance up into the warm caring eyes of my mother.
“What is this mom? Who left these things behind?” I asked softly as though fearful of destroying the ambience or the mood or something.
A soft, sad smile and she sits next to me. Despite her age she’s still a beautiful woman and she reaches out to run a finger down the leather biker’s jacket. “It was long before your time.”
“Still there has to be a reason you’ve kept this so long.”
“There is.” She replied softly, sadly. “It’s a long story though.”
“I’ve got time.”
“Time. Yes, yes you do.” She shifts lifting a silk scarf to her face and breathing in the perfume. “It was so long ago. Before your father and I married. Oh we were together, loving and living as best we could. Then one day they came…” she pauses as her eyes get a far away look. “And suddenly I know. I know what it means to lust after something or someone. I know what its like to hurt, to love, to want with a desperation that clings. All I have to do is look at her, look in her eyes as they fall up on him and I know.” She begins softly.
“Momma who is he? Who is she? Are they still alive?” I ask sometime later.
She smiles at me and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yes baby girl they’re still alive.”
“Then why aren’t they here?”
“Because,” she pauses and blinks to clear her eyes of tears. “Because for them love couldn’t live within these walls. For us they were too different, too not what we thought should be.”
“What happened?”
“She’d been here for five years and he’d been through the mansion many times during that period. Always staying with her, by her side, talking, touching. When we found out that the touches were less fatherly and more lover-like those of us who objected to their union caused a scene. She ran. He followed. We haven’t seen either since.”
“But why? Why would you object to their love?” I demand.
I watch as my mother lowers her head and smiles sadly, shamefully. “Because I loved him to. I wanted him more than I wanted what I had and I was willing to fight for it. I just never thought that he didn’t feel the same as I did.”
“Who were they Momma?”
“Leather and Silk baby girl. Leather and silk.” She leaves me as quickly as she can and I sit there staring at the items in my lap. Finally I pick up the piece of paper and stare at it for a moment before unfolding it. Instantly I’m staring into the faces of the two mansion residents that are whispered about.
Eyes filled with adoration and love, like warm chocolate stare at the man standing next to a young woman. The look is reflected in eyes of hazel and yet beneath the emotions there is an element of danger, of risk…and surprisingly an element of safety and trust.
Flipping it over I read quickly. “Rogue and Logan – aka Wolverine one day after her twenty-first birthday…the last day they were under the roof.”
I look in the direction my mother has taken and sigh. Even now she can’t speak of them, even now when she’s too old for it to matter my Mother refuses to acknowledge the lives and loves of those who she couldn’t contain. Leather and Silk are the most hated and most loved things of my mother, the once beautiful Dr. Jean Grey.
Lovingly I pack the trunk back up and close it. Putting the tarps and such back carefully I turn and head for the stairs. I won’t forget them, I won’t let them fade from life because of pride. After all the love they had was stronger than any other even that of my Mom and Dad.
“Hey Summers you coming?” A familiar drawl has me turning to face the tall, dark haired man who is my sparring partner and I smile tiredly.
“Yeah Drake. Lets go.” As I close up the attic I’m left with only one thought.
*All love deserves more than to be locked into a box in an old, dust filled attic…even the love that you don’t approve of.*
THE END.
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