Can you think of any movie where something good happens in an attic? I can’t. The attic is always where some idiot goes to “see what that noise was” and the next time you see his face it’s hanging from a clothesline like a ski mask. Or sometimes the attic is where you find some old doll that switches bodies with you, or a mirror that reveals your past lives, or an alien spoor that has been living there since it landed in Roswell in 1947 and will now infect the entire planet, especially after the military tries to nuke it and only makes it radioactive and 10 stories high instead.
I’ve never had an attic before. We had a crawl space in our townhouse condo. We’d have to drag a full-sized ladder to our bedroom closet, stick our heads up through the trap door like a Whack-a-Mole, feel around for the light cord, and haul ourselves up through the hole without stepping on the top shelf of the closet, which we’d already broken like five times by stepping on it while trying to haul ourselves up into the crawl space.
Once up there, we had to walk scrunched over so as to navigate through the crossbeams and rafters. It wasn’t good for much except storing stuff we hardly ever used. And then we’d use that stuff even less because it was such a pain in the ass to get it down from the crawl space.
But in the new house, we have an honest-to-goodness attic with one of those ladders that pulls down out of the ceiling while making extensive creaking sounds to warn whatever is up there waiting to kill us.
The attic is over the whole house and has a floor and everything, so you can really use it. We use it to store exactly the same stuff we kept in the crawl space of the condo. It comes in handy for home maintenance people, though. The third cable installer who came finally went up there to fix a line. The electrician went up there to install overhead lights. The inspector went up there before we closed on the house to check out everything and make sure there was no rotting, or mold, or, you know, alien spoor.
I’ve gone up there exactly twice. Once, before we bought the place, when I stuck my head through the door, shone a flashlight around, and said, “Yup, looks like an attic to me.” The second time was on moving day, when I shoved the boxes with my daughter’s old American Girl dolls up there, until such time as she has children of her own to pass them down to.
Hopefully, that will be before they come to life and strangle me in my sleep.
See you soon.