She picked up the old department store bag and moved it to the other side of the attic. Now there would be room for the summer clothes she was storing. With the snow just coming in late December, she figured it would be a long winter and quite a while before she'd need shorts or t-shirts again.
As she climbed back down the ladder to the main floor, she noticed a small object on the floor. She picked it up and dusted it off. A dreidel. From her father.
She remembered getting it -- her first -- from him when she was a girl. A girl who still believed in her father. Who thought he was like Superman: strong, smart, kind, and indestructible.
Now she knew better.
Those things, those were all lies. Genetic and cultural fibs meant to keep you in line. Only, she didn't like this line, didn't want what he was selling. So she'd stepped out. And he'd never forgiven her.
She took the dreidel back downstairs with her. She put it in the change jar in the kitchen. She thought the location was fitting.
At one time, it had been worth a lot. Now, it was pennies.
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