I've never told anyone what happened to me when I was 14, but I guess I kind of always

wanted to.

My name is Max, I'm 25 now, so this is a bit of ancient history I suppose.

My grandfather passed away when I was 14 and my mother was his only child.

He was divorced from my grandma and had never remarried or anything, so all the stuff

you have to do when someone dies fell to my mom.

He lived a few states away, so one weekend we went out to his house so mom could go through

everything and see if there was anything she or I wanted to keep before the estate sale.

His house was pretty cool really, he had acres of land and there was a pond and he had

an in-ground pool and the house wasn't like a mansion or anything, but it was way more

than one old guy needed.

Grandpa Ray had grown up super poor.

His father was an alcoholic who couldn't hold a job and was abusive to his kids.

Grandpa had a brother and sister, both of whom passed before he did.

Grandpa vowed to never be like his father, so he stayed away from alcohol and he worked

really hard getting a doctorate and becoming a college professor and building a really

nice life.

Oh my gosh, I tend to ramble.

Let me get to Lemon Belly.

So we drive to his house one Friday and get there late, so we just crash.

Saturday morning we start going to the house, both of us picking things to keep.

I found the attic and head up.

...