The Start of It All

America, 1990

The old wood creaked under his sneakers as he slowly crept around the stuffy attic; the dust and cobweb coated windows offered minimal light. It was just enough for him to see what he was doing. The attic was packed tightly, chests, papers, various furniture, pictures, there was so much stuff. Leo’s curious eyes examined the mountains of junk collecting dust, locked away, to be forgotten. He clutched the key in his hand as he heard what could be settling of some small creature who was possibly buried in the mess. He took a deep breath and relaxed. He looked around for whatever box the key belonged to and was prepared to sit up there for hours. He had found it a few days before. After going through whatever he could find through the house, the attic was his last resort. He had found other keys in his grandfather’s house before and had always found what they went to quickly. This one didn’t fit in anything.

Leo was surprised he didn’t suffocate after a while; the dust clouds were thick. He sighed and pushed a box away in frustration. This brought down a collection of paper and cardboard boxes atop of him. He scrambled out of the mound of documents. He groaned and rubbed his head. He looked around at the bigger mess he made. His gaze fell upon a singular wooden box it somewhat resembled a jewelry box. He coughed again to clear his lungs and crawled over picking up the small chest. He ran his fingers over the dirty lid. It was a beautiful box, it’d be nicer if it had been kept better. It had a dark maroon tint to the wood, in the shape of an elegant music box, something that one would find in the palaces of royals. The gold trim was painted, delicately and precisely, with a silver lock on the front of the box. He looked at the faded gold key; its head matched the shape of the lock. He hoped it’d work.

He tried the key and, sure enough, the box opened. Inside there was a picture of a young man in a military uniform. Leo had a slight feeling of deja vu with this young man’s face but was sure he had never met him. The rest of the contents were letters, a lot of them, and all in German. He cursed quietly if he wanted to read these he’d have to ask his grandfather. He sighed and shut the lid on the box.

He made his way back downstairs. Leo silently moved through the house; keeping an eye out for his grandfather who he left sleeping when he went up to the attic. Getting to his grandfather’s bedroom he placed the key on his nightstand beside the bed where it was before. He was going to turn and walk out but a picture caught his eye. Next, to the picture of Leo’s grandmother, there was a picture of the same young man in the photo from the box.

“What the…” he picked up the framed picture; he set the box and picture on the bed. Getting the other photo out of the box he saw that they were the same man. On the back of the loose one, simply was written, Feliciano. On the letters he went through next, they were either to or from Feliciano. The letters to this mysterious man resembled his grandfather’s handwriting. He at least assumed they were his grandfather’s. Who else would they belong to?

Leo wished he could read German or, at least, more of it, he recognized some words but very few really stood out to him and it definitely wasn’t enough to understand what was going on in the letters. He didn’t want to ask about this, seeing as it was obviously something very personal if it was locked and hidden at all times. Yet he wanted to know and maybe it would be worth the risk. He gathered everything. He left the room and made his way out to his grandfather who was in the living room.

“Grandpa!” he called, he peeked in the living room and his grandfather sat up from his seat.

“Grandpa?” he said again.

“What, Leon.” he looked over to him, groggy and unhappy from being woken up.

“I went up in the attic.”

“Why on earth would you…” he stopped when he saw the familiar box in Leo’s hands. He stood and stared at the box. Leo could see the sudden change in his eyes. His expression softened from anger to confusion and what seemed to be grief.

“I was just looking around… I found this…” he said, “I wanted to ask because there’s a picture inside, and a picture of the same guy was on your nightstand…” he said.

“Yes, Yes, I know there was,” he quickly snapped then paused, he swallowed hard. He looked like there was a war waging in his mind, “I… you weren’t supposed to find this,” he walked over and Leo handed him the box.

“I saw the letters were to or from Marco. I guess, you?”

“Yes,” he said in a slightly irritated tone, “Who else would they belong to.”

“Who’s Feliciano?” Leo responded.

“Feliciano is… Feliciano… is…” he trailed, running his fingers over the lid of the box and opening it. He stared at the photo, his eyes welling up with tears. He looked Leo in the eyes, “It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know,” he hissed and slammed the lid shut. Leo jumped, looking at the box.

“But, Grandpa,” he followed Marco out of the room. Marco stopped in the hallway to his room, turning back to his Grandson.

“It’s nothing you need to know about this. Nothing. You shouldn’t have found this. You shouldn’t be going through my things,” he said bitterly.

“I won’t tell anyone! I promise! I…” Leo tried to find his words, tried to find some way to get his Grandfather to talk, “Who’s Feliciano, Grandpa? Is he why you won’t talk about the war?”

“Leon, drop it. You do not need to know about anything. This should have stayed buried where it was.”

“Was he your friend? I’ve never heard about him. I never even knew you had that picture. Did Grandma know?” he kept the questions going rapid fire.

“Stop it!” Marco shouted and Leon quickly shut up. Marco took time to stare at the box, clearly still unsure of what to do. What to say and what to say to Leo. He looked Leo again, he was at a loss for words, he realized he had snapped at him a lot more harshly than he ever would otherwise. He looked down to the box in his hands.

“Do you really want to know who Feliciano is?” his voice was shaky. Leo hesitated. He had never seen his grandfather cry; not even at his own grandmother’s funeral. Who was this man to him?

“Yes, I would… if you would tell me…” he trailed.

“I really…” Marco sighed, he paused redirecting the conversation, “Let’s sit down first.”

Leo nodded and followed him as Marco shuffled back the seat he sat in before. Leo sat on the couch next to that chair, watching his grandfather set the box on the small coffee table and take out the picture of Feliciano. Glossy blue eyes examined the black-and-white photo. Leo shifted in his seat, his heart pounding.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you hated me after this, Leo. I would understand…”

“It really couldn’t be that bad, right..?”

“By the time I explain, that’s up for you to decide,” he muttered, looking to Leo momentarily and returning his sight to the picture. He took another long moment to just stare at the photo he was holding. Leo’s heart twisted in his chest, watching his grandfather’s frail figure tremble so much. Marco’s jaw clenched and he leaned back in the chair, not taking his eyes off the picture.

“I was a soldier during the Second World War, I was a German soldier…” he started, “Feliciano was an Italian soldier, that I had befriended… and fallen in love with.”

This is my own artwork btw, of my baby Marco holding a picture of young Feliciano.

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This is the opening to my WWII novel "Will You Regret Me" I am in the process of writing the final stretch. The very end of it. I have some beta readers lined up and an editor so I can start the process of polishing before heading into publishing. It's been a long journey but I am so excited and proud. I love these characters and I've enjoyed every moment of writing this.[ic]I wanted to share a piece of this directly with the community. The draft I'm finishing is not available to anyone except my beta readers but my first draft (far different from the new draft) is available on wattpad. That is linked in my wikis.[ic]I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading <3 <3