Meet our Writer of the Week, Julee Balko. Tune in to the podcast on Saturday, March 26th to hear her story and to learn more about her book titled, The Things We Keep. See an exclusive excerpt below with Julee's links and follow her across social media.
Excerpt from
Fifty-three cans of beets. Why these beets in particular enraged Serena wasn’t totally clear. They were not her beets. They were her mother’s. And her mother was dead. Serena had dealt with so much already, had taken care of so many things. And now, she, Serena, was going to take care of fifty-three cans of beets.
She pulled up to her father’s house, noticing how it looked different. Even though the shrubs were still trimmed. The mulch still sloped where her father always ran it over with the car. The yellow flowers were still planted in a row. Yet to Serena, they all breathed a different air. A solemn air. The trees knew. She could see they bowed their branches ever so slightly to acknowledge the change. She nodded her head to them and took a deep breath before
touching the handle on the door.
She glanced at her watch. She had an hour to get this done before she had to get to the lab. Her western blot would show if her last experiment worked, or failed, yet again.
“You here?” asked Serena as she walked into the house. Her parents’ house. Barbara and Robert. Everyone always put Barbara’s name first when they talked about her parents. Because her mother, Barbara, was such a force. Now it was just her father’s name alone,
just Robert, and it was also just Robert’s house. Now it was all mentally renamed. The house greeted her with its strange smell of marinated roasts from years past.
“Hello? Dad?” She walked through the hallway and felt small. The walls looked dingier than she remembered. A picture of her mom greeted her. Smiling from behind a sunflower and looking happier than Serena had ever remembered her.
“Up here,” came a voice from her father’s bedroom. She walked up the worn, carpeted stairs into her father’s bedroom. He was folding socks. She had never seen her father fold socks in her thirty-six years of life until this day. She had never seen her father touch any laundry. Her mother took care of that.
“I’m here for the beets,” she said with a smile.
As if it was something she was looking forward to doing. She didn’t want the beets. She wanted to help her dad who was overcome with all the things her mother had left behind. He was lucky; he was left with material things. Serena was left with questions. She didn’t have the “let’s go shopping” type of relationship with her mother. She had space, hate, and uncertainty, and now a shit-ton of beets, which she planned on donating to a local food shelter rather than
wasting them. Her mother loved beets. They were her favorite. She was also one of the most frugal people Serena had ever known. She could coupon-cut her way to free canned goods that began to stockpile because she couldn’t say no to a good deal—even if it led to rows upon rows of cans that no one would ever eat.
“You sure you want them? I can just throw them away,” replied Robert as he held up a sock to see whether it was navy or black.
“It’s black,” said Serena.
“Thanks. Hard for me to see that. The beets are in the basement. I was going to get them for you, but I lost track of time.” His voice was stressed and high-pitched, as if failing to get the beets was a serious problem.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get them.” Serena walked down the stairs and heard her father rush behind her.
“Let me get you some bags. I have lots of paper bags.”
“Great. Thanks.” And with more bags than necessary, she opened the door to the basement.
The click of the lock greeted her. She looked back. Her father had gone on to do some other chore. She walked down the steps slowly and deliberately. Her feet felt like they were wearing shoes too big for her—old-man shoes that were cumbersome, awkward, and
heavy. The basement smelled of dust, wet wood, and old cement. Boxes half-closed revealed a graveyard of her mother’s belongings. Sitting quietly. Whispering of being forgotten. Her father must have started cleaning out her mother’s closet. She gazed at her feet and walked slowly to the shelves. All that was left of her mother’s once bountiful supply of canned goods were fifty-three cans of beets. Robert had emptied the shelves and relocated everything that was left to the kitchen. He picked through what he thought he would eat, claiming the green beans, corn, peas, the marinara sauce with the basil he liked, gravy, mustard, ketchup, boxed noodles, extra napkins, cream of mushroom soup, and those tiny pickles that the grandkids thought were fun to eat. What her father had kept was only a fraction of her mother’s collection, which was impressive, considering all of the various sales, coupons, and deals she found at the store each week. Buying excess food to hoard downstairs was not her father’s way though. He didn’t even
know what kind of sales the grocery store had each week. Knowing the sales, bulking up on canned foods—that was her mother’s way.
And now that way was gone.
To learn more and follow Julee visit her links below:
Website: https://www.juleebalko.com/
Twitter: @misplacedcomma2
TikTok & Instagram Handle: @JuleeBalko
A new Writer of the Week will be featured on the blog every 2nd and 4th Monday at 8 a.m. EST on the blog. Please follow The Writing Wall on Twitter or on Instagram for updates and announcements. Readers may also tune in to the podcast every 2nd and 4th Saturday of the month at 6 p.m. EST on multiple platforms as we interview Writers of the Week, poets, authors, and more. Visit LinkTree for more platforms. Followers can now become a supporter or sponsor on BuyMeACoffee for exclusive behind-the-scenes at Season 4, promotion, events, and more.