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A Time To Live

4/15/2021

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“But the handle is broken.”

“Yeah, so?”

“If you were 2000 years old, you’d have broken bits too. Hell, you’re only fifty years old, and you have broken bits.”

The man leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands, and looked at her sideways, somewhere between a questioning look and an I don’t give a shit look.

“Well? Do you want it?”

“Well yeah, but..”

“But nothing—take it or leave it.”

“Alright, how much did you say it was again?”

“Ten thousand dollars, cash upfront.”

Claire Thomas stared at him for a second then began rummaging through her pocketbook.

“ I could take it out in trade…”  

She ignored his lewd stare and attempt at humor. “No…no, I have it, but it’s an awful lot for a broken vase.” 

“An ancient broken vase, which has a secret to tell.”

“Secrets?” Claire looked up from her counting a wad of bills several inches thick.

“Yeah,  at least that’s what they told me when I got it.”

“Secrets make it worth ten thousand bucks?”

“Hell no. It’s worth ten grand because of where it came from.”

Which was?”

“You’re supposed to know your ancient vases, pottery, and  stuff, you tell me.” He sat up and picked the vase from the small shelf it sat on, rather careless tossing it in his hands.

“Don’t!” She stopped counting abruptly at his handling of the precious artifact.

“Oh, sorry, I’m so used to handing this stuff I get careless.” He sat it on the desk in front of her.

She stuffed her bills back in her pocketbook and picked up the vase, carefully turning and looking inside and at the bottom. She half expected to see Made in China on a small sticker, but there were none, only marks the pottery wheel made eons ago.

 He held his hand out. “Money?”

“Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot.” Claire sat the base down and fished a smaller wad of bills from her pocketbook.

“Ten thousand?”

“Yeah.”

As she handed him several crisp, new bills, she raised an eyebrow. “You never said what the secret this jar holds.” 

“Oh yeah, sorry, it’s supposed to have a power of some kind. The old man said it held the secret of youth or  healing or something like that.”

“You don’t seem very impressed.”

“Yeah. Well, I get these stories all the time. I write them down to go with the item, but other than that, I don’t pay no attention.”

“I see, and how is this supposed to make me youthful again?” She picked up the jug and examined it more carefully as he folded the cash and stuck it in a shirt pocket.

“Hell, I don’t know. He was mumbling something about putting something in it or rubbing it or something.”

“And how old was he?” She peeked down the throat of the vase again.

“Older than dirt.” 

“That young?” She raised her eyebrows at him and smiled at her joke.

“Yeah.”  He replaced the vase in a large box and handed it to her.

*****

The story he’d told her kept rattling around in her mind as she looked into the history of the jug. It had indeed come from the location he claimed, and the value was constant with similar artifacts of that period and condition. If the handle hadn’t been broken, it would have been worth twice as much.

 As she moved it around her apartment, looking for just the right place to display it, a thought occurred to her. “What if the old man was really as old as dirt?

“Nah,” she answered herself. “No one is that old.” 

But another thought flitted through her mind. “What if the jug did have healing powers?” She needed to know. 
 
                                                                               *****

Twenty-four hours later, Claire had packed the jug in a padded case well wrapped and secured shut to protect it and checked it through customs along with her baggage and boarded a plane to Egypt.

Once there, the Land Rover ride to the dig site where the jug had been discovered was long and hot. Five minutes into the desert, she had sand and dust in places she didn’t know she had. 

All the seller had given her was a general description of the old man. He hadn’t owned the jug but had horned into the discussion spouting all kinds of nonsense. Now, as she rode in the front seat of a Land Rover halfway around the world from her home, Claire began to have second thoughts about the whole venture, but it was too late to back out now. She’d spent money, made connections all in the hope of finding a crazy old man no one remembered seeing.

Every jounce, bump, and jolt of the vehicle reminded Claire of what the shady dealer said about her being broken. All the money her parents spent and the fancy doctors and treatments had done nothing to ease her pain. She had filled her New York City apartment with objects from around the world. All the places she had wanted to travel but couldn’t because of the pain she lived with every day.

The pain had been constant since she was born. Her bones hadn’t developed right, her joints stiff, causing her constant pain. No amount of pain medications gave her total relief. As a youngster, she’d fought through the pain and played sports, hoping she could push through it, but it only worsened as she got older.
 
So now she was on one last-ditch mission to save her body and thus her life.
A five-hour ride in a Land Rover had reawakened every joint that ever pained her in the past. When they pulled into the small settlement that passed as a village in the middle of nowhere, Claire downed a handful of pills, knowing full well they wouldn’t help much. At least they might take the edge of the back and leg pain so she could walk. Her arms and hands hurt even holding the water bottle in her lap. Her hope lay her feet—the case containing the jug.

*****
The Land Rover parked next to a large tent. Claire leaned back, closed her eyes to block the sun glaring through the windshield and the pain that was shooting through her legs. Sighing heavily, she opened the door. A young man dressed in an old shirt and shorts appeared from nowhere and took the padded case from her, and then he helped her exit the car. Standing on the packed sand, she wobbled but managed to stay upright between holding the open door and the man’s hand.

“Mam, we are honored to have you here. He said in broken English. His accent punctuated his words with a flair she hadn’t heard in years. 

“Thank you.” 

She looked around the compound she followed him into the tent. Except for a couple of dilapidated small adobe buildings, she noted the encampment consisted of several large tents. As she stepped into the relative shade of a tent, Claire wondered what she had gotten herself into by coming here.

Her host, Saadah, introduced himself and the others and offered her refreshments from an old refrigerator powered by an equally old generator. As she sipped the surprisingly and welcomed cold tea, she decided to skip any pleasantries and show them the jug.

“The old man, the one with the story about this jug, please tell me about him.” She opened the case and pulled it from its foam and plastic wrapping. 

“This came from here?” They nodded yes, and she continued, “I was told that there was an old man who said this vase was special.” She held it up for everyone to see clearly.

“Yes.. that’s what he said,” Saadah confirmed.

“Okay, I need to speak to him to find out why this object is special. Who is he, and where can I find him?”

Saadah shrugged. “He’s no longer with us.”

“He left?”

“No, he died not long after he gave up the jug.”

“Does anyone else know what this?” The heavy earthen jug was difficult for her to hold in her painful hands. She sat it on the ground in front of her waiting for an answer. Their only reply was to shake their heads.

“Please, I’ve come  many miles across several countries to learn about this jar.”

A man standing in the back corner of the tent stepped forward. “There was an old woman, I think, who knew about the jar.”
 
He approached her and gestured towards the vase. She nodded, and he picked it up carefully, cradling it in his arms as he looked it over.

“Yes, I believe this is the vase. “The life Vase” it has been called.”

Another of the workers spoke. “Yes, I remember her. She and the old man swore it had healing powers, but no one believed them. It was just some old crockery they found buried in the sand.”

“Where can I find her?”

“You can’t. She must find you.”

“Find me? How? Where?”

“One does not ask such questions. If it is to be, she will find you. That is the way it’s always been.” 

“But you know her? You can find her for me?” Claire pleaded with the man.

“No. You must have patience. If it is to be, she will find you.” 

*****
Claire made her mind up as long as she could stand the pain, heat, sand, and living conditions she was staying on the compound. She had paid dearly for this trip, both in money and in body. Although she knew the members of the dig barely tolerated her presence, she kept out of their way as they worked.

The following days developed into a routine of sorts. She woke early, attended to her daily routine before most of the crew woke up. As much as her legs would allow, she walked around the settlement and visited the dig. Soon, she was helping the support crew when she could. She cleaned and set up equipment and learned about the dig from the staff who would talk to her and observed as men and women hunched in the sand with small trowels, knives, and brushes worked to find anything that might be of value. At one point, one of the students let her try digging a little. She couldn’t kneel long before she was in pain. It had been fun until the supervisor saw her and ran her off, yelling at the young student who had allowed her to help. It never happened again. No one invited her to the dig again, and they ignored her when she came into the tent. 

Weeks went by, then to her surprise, the head archaeologist, Payton Warner, who had been openly skeptical of Claire’s invasion into his world, softened as he learned from the students about her constant willingness to learn and help. He took her to the digs and taught her how to use the trowel and brush and the system they used to track what they found. To her surprise, she was a natural, and he seemed to think so as well. They grew closer as he continued to teach her. She had been a fast learner, and her knees and back were seeming stronger allowed her to stay in the field longer each day. Reference books appeared in her tent, and each night, she read by lantern light before going to sleep.

 Every day Claire walked a little more, making trips to the nearby village to help get supplies. Slowly she realized her bones had stopped hurting. It dawned on her one morning. She hadn’t had any pain in her hands in a while. Holding them in front of her face, she worked all her fingers, and they moved freely, no shooting pain, no stiffness. She tried her legs—again, no pain. Her back was still bothering her, but she was indeed feeling better than she had in years. She felt alive again. 
 
 Then word came from the students. They told her there had been word of the old lady, and she was in the area. Claire was surprised that she had forgotten about her in all the excitement of learning about the dig. 

 She was working on a section of the dig when one of the students called to her. “She’s here!!!!”

The old lady was here.

Everyone stopped as the old lady came over the hill. She was small but stood straight and tall. Her silhouette against the sun cast a shadow to the west as she descended the hill to the dig site. The art dealer was right about the fact they were older than dirt.

She was tiny.  What little hair she had left had long gone white and nearly hidden by the head coverings she wore. Her skin was leather-like, but her eyes glistened like shiny black stones on a leather canvas. She walked with the aid of a walking stick, but she appeared more vibrant than any of them.

The old woman stopped in front of her. “Claire?” 

“Yes, mam.” Those words were all she could muster as dust caught in her mouth as she tried to speak.

“The jar of life? You have it?” 

 “It’s back in my tent. I can get…”

“No need. You are healed.”

“What?” Claire’s heart was racing.

The old woman smiled. “You believed, and you acted, and you persevered, and now. you are healed.”

 The old lady turned around and headed up the hill.

Claire called out. “But the jug? What do I do with the jug?”

At the top of the hill, the old woman turned and faced the crowd. Her words echoed over the valley.

“The vase was the vessel to bring you to where you needed to be, to begin a new life. You will know when it is time to pass it to another needy soul.”

With those last words, the old woman vanished over the hill. 

Claire couldn’t catch her breath. Healed? Was she healed? As that revelation sunk in, she sensed Payton was standing beside her. She turned to him.

“I am healed.”

He nodded. “Yes, you are.”

She gazed into his eyes which reflected the joy coursing through her.

 Yes. She was healed both in her body and in her heart.


 

 

















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Once  Again ?

12/9/2020

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He leafed through the old photo albums, occasionally stopping to look at a picture and remember the people in it. The old black and white photos of his parents and grandparents brought back fond memories.
Then he found her photo album.
The pretty fabric cover told him instantly that it belonged to a girl and not just any girl—his wife.
On the first page, he found the picture of the bike. He smiled as he remembered the first time he saw her riding down Blueberry Hill. Her blonde hair flowed behind her as she rode past him way too fast for the slope. Worried that she was going too fast, he had followed her on his bike. He caught up with her just as she nearly hit a car at the end of the street.
Skidding up beside her, he grinned. “Do it again?”
She had nodded yes. They turned the bikes around and began the long hard ride up the hill. At ten years old, life was an adventure.
Closing his eyes, he remembered the first time he kissed her. They sat in his dad’s car as he’d just gotten his license, and she was his first date.
The next picture was from the following year. This time they sat in his first car. He remembered how he had worked part-time after school and all summer to save up the money for an old jalopy that barely ran. He’d kept the car until he graduated. She had been there all through the years. Pictures of them scattered through their family albums.
Now years later, he could still remember the day she almost killed herself riding down Blueberry Hill.
Closing the album, he got up and met her at the door.
Taking her hand, he kissed her. “Do it again?”
She nodded yes, smiling, and kissed him again, and they left the house.
They walked to the church’s altar as their families, children, and grandchildren watched from the pews.
Smiling, the preacher began.
“We are here to renew John and Ann’s vows on their 50th wedding anniversary.”


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Starting  Over

9/29/2020

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  I barely noticed the red floodlights that bathed the cell tower as I drove by or the majestic Milky Way in the night sky. My destination was the farmhouse down the road. 
In the darkness of early fall, the lights of the old farmhouse that sat far off the road were inviting. As I pulled into the driveway, the long drive to the main house gave me one last chance to change my mind.
No. I’d made up my mind. I was going to go through with it.
It would be easy to wimp out and bow to her wishes and slink away like a coward. But no, I loved her, and no matter what her mother or any of her cronies said or did, I was going to marry her daughter.
I had stood up to her before and refused to disappear when they took a dislike to me. I wasn’t good enough for their favorite little girl. Hell, no one would be good enough for her, but she had stood up to her mother and refused to make me leave. 
I had told her the only way I was leaving was if she asked me. Instead, she invited me to live with her in the old farmhouse. I refused, but it made the point, and the row that day was epic. 
Threats made and promises broken, and in the end, she left with me.
We hid out in town for a week before deciding to return to the farmhouse to live. It was more practical, but back at the farmhouse, her mother treated me like a servant when I was there. I did and said little, but when we were alone, I told her I was working on a way for us to marry.
I stopped at the main house, and after killing the motor, I sat in the dark for a minute. She knew I was coming. I had sent her a message earlier that day, telling her it was time to make a stand. 
Knocking on the front door, I waited for what seemed like ages for it to open.
Her mother stood in the doorway. 
In the dim porch light, I could see her face turn to hate the second she saw me. I ignored it. “Jane is waiting for me,” I said flatly and firmly and pushed past her into the living room. She moved aside quickly to avoid my shoulder hitting her as I passed.
 “How dare you come in here like you own the place. You… little shit!” 
For all her high and mightiness and better-than-you attitude, she could swear like a drunken soldier. I’d heard her let loose on more than one occasion, and there would be more swearing tonight. I ignored her, which made her angrier.
Jane came into the living room from the back stairs, carrying a large duffel bag and a backpack. She wore a t-shirt and jeans. She dropped the bags and hurried to meet me in the center of the room. Our hands found their favorite places as we kissed. 
Her mother remained standing in the open doorway. We broke the kiss, and holding Jane’s hand, I addressed her mother. 
“In a polite society, where you pretend to be but are far from it, it’s tradition for a man to ask the girl’s parents for permission to marry their daughter. We both know you won’t give it to us. I’m not asking. I’m telling you that I am marrying Jane. You’ve never liked me from the moment you set eyes on me. While you were running around hating everyone you didn’t think was good enough for you, I’ve been busy investigating your family. I know where you got all the money.
“I know who you killed to keep it quiet. I know how your husband died, and I have the proof. I could easily make an anonymous call to the FBI or the local police. Both would be interested, but I won’t because I’m marrying into this mess of a family. Jane is leaving tonight with me, and we’re not coming back. The next you see us will be at the wedding. You’ll show up, be polite and cordial, and be as friendly as you can. You’ll be nice to my family. If I so much as hear one story of you being a bitch, or one comment out of line, calls will be made. After the wedding, we’ll be leaving the state. You probably won’t see us again, but rest assured, I’ve made plans, should you try to interfere with us ever again. This little empire of yours will crumble, and you’ll be under it.” 
She tried to speak, but no words came out of her mouth.
I picked up Jane’s bags, and we marched out of the room. On the porch, I turned and looked back into the house. She was still standing next to the open door. 
Putting Jane’s stuff into the back of my car, we piled in. I stepped on the gas a little harder than I needed to as I threw it in reverse and spun the back of the car around, throwing gravel on the porch. One last gun of the engine as I put it in drive left another shower of gravel as we left the old farmhouse.
A few minutes later, we passed the tower again. This time I gazed at the wonderment that was the ribbon of stars framing the tower and laughed. The universe knew everything, but what the old bitch didn’t know was that I was bluffing on most of the things I said in the house. I chuckled as we drove toward our new life. I did know enough to make her life miserable if I had to.

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The Healing Power of Coffee and Time

2/3/2020

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He sat on the edge of the bed and pondered many things as he always did in the morning. Most were the same thoughts that always rattled in his head while other random thoughts came and went. The smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen brought him out of his reprieve. He had learned to set the pot on automatic for just this reason. He debated for a second whether to ignore the call of warm black coffee. 
Coffee won. 
It always did.
He got up and followed the aroma of coffee to the kitchen. Pouring himself a cup, he continued to ponder his life.
Damn, he still missed her. It had been many years since the car accident that killed his wife. He’d barely survived but soldiered on, doing what was necessary at the time. Funeral, car, insurance, hospital bills for him, and many of the other mundane tasks’ that life required of him. But his heart wasn’t in it and he only went through the motions. Doing what was expected of him when necessary and followed all the rules.
At some point, he stopped caring.  He wasn’t sure when it happened, but he was through pondering, he decided to leave, just pick up and leave. He cashed out the bank, paid off the bills and closed accounts, and left. Driving as far as he could on a tank of gas, he stopped. He found a dump of a motel, but he didn’t care. It was a roof over his head for the night.
The next day he drove more.
The pattern continued day after day. He drove and ate in whatever cheap dinners and restaurants he could find. Most nights, he found a motel. Some nights he slept in the car and on some nights, he drove all night. He had no idea where he was going or what he was doing. He barely talked to anyone preferring to stay away from people.
Every so often, a replay of the accident would float through his mind nearly causing him to have another accident.  Part of him didn’t care. A large part of him didn’t care. But at the same time, he didn’t want to inflict his pain on someone else.
There was a very brief thought of suicide. He quickly dismissed the thought as stupid and irrational. He knew she would want him to live to, hopefully, a happy life. But it wasn’t happening. So, he drove. He knew he’d eventually run out of road or money, probably money first.
She was sitting at dinner on the twelfth day, drinking coffee and eating toast. He slid onto the stool next to her at the counter and ordered a coffee. The waitress brought him a fresh cup and poured coffee in it and held the pot up to her.
She nodded yes, and the waitress topped off her cup.
 He pointed to the containers of sugar and cream, which were closer to him.  “You need sugar or cream?”
 “Eh, ah – no, I take it black. Thanks, all the same.” 
He played with his cup while it cooled off, uneasy because he wanted to talk to her. After a minute, he got the courage. “New around here?”
She glanced at him. He knew he looked like shit since he’d been living in his car for a week, saving money for food and gas.
He was surprised when she smiled. “Yep, just passing through, on my way to  Beaver Dam.”
“Never heard of it.”
 “Didn’t expect that you would. It’s a tiny spot on the map in the middle of nowhere.” She took a sip of her coffee. He tried his. It was barely cool enough to drink.
 “So how long ago did you lose her?” 
He stopped with his cup in mid-air and looked over at her. “Excuse me?”
“ I lost my Danny a little over a year ago. I’m still getting used to it.”
 “It’s that obvious?”
 “It is if you know what to look for, and I do. Your wife, how did she die?”
 He drank some coffee as a stall. “Three years ago, in a car accident.” He didn’t elaborate. It was the first time he said anything about that night in over two years.
 “Danny died of cancer.”
“Shit man, that’s a hell of a way to go.”
“It is it was painful and slow, and there was almost nothing left of him in the end.”
“I’m sorry.” He paused. “Lois was quick. They said she died instantly when the car hit us.” This was the first time he’d said her name in so long that it felt foreign to him.
“You were there?”
“Eh, yes – I was driving. A car t-boned us on her side, and she died instantly. I barely managed to survive…” he let it tail off.
“Man, I’m sorry.”
 “At least it was quick and painless for her.”
 “Yeah, there’s that,” she conceded.  “By the way, I’m Amy.” She held out her hand.
 “James.” He took it. It felt weird holding another woman’s hand.  Weird, but nice.
They sat and talked for a while, finely moving to a booth in the back. More coffee ordered, then food. This time – real food. Not the crap he’d been eating at drive-throughs and the like. At some point, he glanced at his watch. It was noon. He’d been here for three hours.
One thing leads to another. He decided to go with her to Beaver Dam, at least for a while.
One day became another day.
They spent many hours talking about their respective losses. He was finally able to describe the horrible feeling of loss and terror at realizing his Lois was no longer with him. The sense of uselessness and how his will to even try slowly gave way to thoughts of suicide. This was the first time he’d uttered those thoughts and tried to put his feelings into words.
Amy understood and said she'd gone through much of the same thing herself. She had never spoken a word about what was happening inside her. She had come to Beaver Dam because she needed to get away from everything and everyone she knew. To start over. Like Him.
In the next few weeks, they found a small two-bedroom apartment to live as roommates and new jobs. Beaver Dam was ripe with new places to explore and he felt himself coming back to life again. Slowly, a little at a time but he was healing. The times he was away from Amy, he found himself thinking about her. Lois still popped into his head daily but now it didn't hurt as much. 
Gradually, he realized that he was developing feelings for her. Feeling he hadn’t had since he’d first meet Lois all those years ago. For the first time in three years, he wanted to get up in the morning. To see Amy. That realization that he was falling in love startled him. He never expected to feel anything about anyone ever again. Yet, there it was.  
Lois would also still be there in his mind and heart, but Amy was giving him a new reason to live again. Three months after they moved to Beaver Dam, while sitting at the local diner over their usual cups of coffee, he said it.
“ I never thought I would say this again to anyone, but, Amy, I love you.”  He couldn’t believe he’s said these words to another person. 
Amy put her fork down and looked at him. “James, I love you too. I didn't think it was possible after Danny, but yeah, I’m in love with you too.”
They sat and talked for a while longer as was their habit when in a diner, but this time, not dwelling on the past but looking toward the future. They had helped each other through the pain of losing someone they both cared deeply about and came out on the other side in love.

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