In my fortieth year I was given a gift. One so spectacular, so laden with potential for good and evil, one so enormous that at first I denied its existence – preferring to believe it was a dream – that I had made it up in my subconscious - unwilling to believe for a moment it could be real.
Often I would lie in bed at night when, just at that period between consciousness and sleep, the memory of the gift would creep softly into my inner vision and I would fall asleep; to dream of an episode where I had used the gift. The next morning I would awake warm and happy, the memory of the dream fresh. Some I wrote down, others slipped quietly away. These dreams continued until I realized that the gift was not something to deny, but to embrace. I still didn’t know if it was real, but I was comfortable with it, wrapping it around me every night and looking forward to the next episode.
I was forty-two when I used it for the first time. By then I had opened a little curio shop in the historic old Red Lion Inn in Stockbridge. It was called Endless Times and specialized in providing hard to find gems with a personal touch. My shop was modest but I carried unusual items. I really enjoyed the people in the neighborhood. Most of them were getting on in years and seemed to actually care about the small things I would dig up in my travels. Some of those things brought back long buried memories. There was sometimes angst, but often joy in their treasure finds. Sometimes they would come in and ask for specific items; other times just to browse – a place to sit and someone to talk with.
Mrs. Martin was a regular, coming in every Thursday just to look at the rings. I carried a little case with me and every time I found an unusual heirloom ring, if it wasn't too much, I'd pick it up for Mrs. Martin. On Wednesday nights I'd pull in the shelf with the watches on it and replace it with the rings. That Wednesday was no exception.
The doorbell tinkled its' tinkle-tinkle as Mrs. Martin pushed open the old teak door of the shop and stepped into the small vestibule - her eyes blinking, trying to adjust to the darkness of the shop. Even though it was located in a back corner of the old Red Lion Inn and in the sun, the shop always seemed to be dark. No matter how many times I'd wash the window or how many lamps I used, it still was dark. She stood silently, trying to wipe the wrinkles from her coat with her hand. She glanced up to see if I was in my usual spot behind the counter and, not seeing me, swung around to look behind the beaded curtain that was used to separate the shop from the two rooms behind that I called home. I came through just in time to see her sigh in relief. "Ahwww goodness, Mr. Metcafe, Ye gave an old lady a fright ye did, now. I expect ye to be where's I can see's ye, and instead ye come a different direction ... no good for this old heart - no sire - not good a'all." She scolded gently.
"I rightly apologize, Mrs. Martin. I had a pot of water heating for tea and wanted to finish it before you came in. Would you like to join me in a cup?"
"Whay... that'd be right nice of ye, Mr. Metcafe. Right nice, Yes. I would like a cup ... just the thing to take the chill of these old bones, now'd winter is settin'in."
"Then please allow me the pleasure of pouring, if you don't mind dear lady." I smiled and took the tray I was carrying and set it down gently on top the case where the rings were. "Perhaps you'd like to look at the latest selection of rings while you have your tea, Madame?"
"Aw Yes, the rings. Tell me Mr. Metcafe, why do ye have such a wide and varied selection of rings? Why is it that every time I come in, ye seem to have a new selection... something more wonderful than the previous time?"
I settled back on my heels a bit before I answered. "You always seemed to like the rings. You look at them every time you come in. I know you don't buy, but I always thought perhaps you were looking for a particular type. If you keep looking then I'll keep finding new ones until you find the one you want."
A tear seemed to shine in Mrs. Martin's eyes as she looked at me. "Oh, ye silly man. I've done gone and given ye a wrong impression with my crazy silliness. It's true that I've been watchin' the rings. But not for the reason ye been thinkin'. It ain't a true ring I've been after... " Her voice trailed off, softer than new fallen snow. Tears did appear in her eyes now. She wasn't exactly crying, but tears were coming.
"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Martin. I didn't mean to ..."
"No." she whispered "Not ye fault." She sat down on a stool I kept by the cases so I could reach the coomer when I cleaned. "It started a long time ago, when I as a little girl, just a twit I was... maybe six or seven. We lived here, in Stockbridge, but about six blocks over. I was an only child - spoiled rotten by my parents. That they loved me I had no doubt, but... well... like I said, I was spoiled. Every thing they'd give me I'd not accept. I'd break all the toys, throw away the food, tear the cloths..."
"Now Mrs. Martin, I sure you didn't mean ..."
"Shush and let me tell this if’n ye wanna' know. Otherwise, I have no reason to come in again.”
"Of course, Madame."
"Well then, like I was saying, I didn't give my parents much in return for all the things they gave me. Nothing they could do would work. Until that spring day when they brought the box home and set it outside my bedroom door, I tried by best to ignore it... did a good job for all of 2 hours too. But the box had holes in it and the whimpering sound coming from within the box was heartbreaking. Finally, I grabbed the box and told my parents I was takin' it outside because it was making too much noise when I wanted to take a nap.
I'm sure they believed me. Once outside, making sure they didn't see me, I tore the side of that box open and peered inside. It wasn't a kitten they had gotten me, but a dog! A little, black, furball of a thing sitting way back in the corner of the box, tongue hanging out, slobber everywhere. Puddles of dog pee right where she was sitting, too. And she took one look at me and came running. Before I had a chance to pull my face back from the opening that darned dog attacked! First she grabbed hold of my ear, causing me to yelp, but in surprise, not pain. She then somehow got tangled up in my blouse and ended up sitting on my face as I fell backwards in shock. Her hot tongue darted at my face and I held up my hands to fend the monster off. But it was futile. Her tongue found each exposed surface, licking and licking until I was laughing so hard I couldn't control myself. I loved her in that instant. But when my parents came running to see what was the matter, instead of hugging the dog, I flung it off me - screaming it was horrible and I never wanted to see it again. I didn't mean it of course.
Over the next few months I did let my parents know that I was happy with the puppy. I named it Fluffy, because it seemed like a good name for a toy poodle that looked like a little ball of fur. That Christmas, I used all my money I had saved up to buy a present for Fluffy. I didn't get my parents anything at all. But they didn't seem to mind. Fluffy got a silver collar ring, I had it special made by a man that lived in the ally behind the house. I had Fluffy’s name put on it.
In March, when Fluffy was only eleven months old, she disappeared. My mom and dad said that it happens dogs sometimes leave for no good reason. But they didn't know the truth. I hadn't been very nice to Fluffy. Even though I loved her, I'd been mean chasing her around the house, trying to hide her toys, fighting with her over her treats. Mom and Dad thought I was just playing the dog did seem to enjoy it but I was not playing.
I know she left because of me. She left right after dinner and never came back."
“I've never forgiven myself for mistreatin' that dog." Mrs. Martin said. "It's also the reason Mr. Martin and I never had any kids. I was too scared of what I'd do." She sobbed. "So, every time I pass a jewelry counter, I stop and took, hoping one day that I'd see that silver collar ring there, and know that Fluffy was gone for good."
“So ye see, Mr. Metcafe, it ain't your rings I'm interested in. There ain't anything ye got that interest me, unless it's a solid silver collar ring and it's wrapped around the neck of a little black ball of fur named Fluffy. "
She set her teacup down on the counter and rose to leave. "So now ye know. I doubt I'll be seein' ya' after this, so take care of yourn-self, Mr. Metcafe. " She said.
"Please, Mrs. Martin. Let's not be hasty. Now that I know, you may still yet be surprised when you glance in my cases. Please, return again when you want. We shall be here, my store and I..."
"We shall see, Mr. Metcafe, we shall see." She opened the door and disappeared into the driven snow. Gone forever.
That night as I lay awake in my bed, I knew how to find Mrs. Martins lost collar. It was simple really. The secret had shown me that. I hadn't used it yet, I never really had a reason to. But this seemed tailormade. I only hoped she would come back in so she could 'find it'.
I lay and thought about the dog and Mrs. Martin. As I did, the ceiling above my bed began to waver, then become opaque and finally disappear; the only cover above me a blanket of stars. I had passed from now to then. That easy. Just want it and it was.
I stood and looked around. The shop and the neighborhood where I lived were gone, replaced by fields of corn stalks.
I wasn't sure when it was. It could have been March, 1955 or April, 1995. There was no point of reference. I had never done this before, so I wasn't even sure where I was. It was possible I had 'popped' into being in the middle of Kansas for all I knew.
I turned around slowly, taking in the views as I passed. To west (I knew it was west because the sun was sinking into the horizon) I could see houses some two or three miles away. To the south was a road. I could hear cars passing every few minutes. Dogs were barking on the north, where there was nothing I could see. And it was cold. I had done this without thinking. I had been at home, in bed with the covers pulled up when I thought of trying it and, bang!, here I am in the middle of who-knows-where in my nightclothes, freezing to death. There was only one thing to do.
I closed my eyes and though of my shop, the two rooms I lived in, and my bed. It seemed warmer somehow and so I slowly opened my eyes. I was standing in my shop, only a few feet from the bed, about the actual distance I had moved in the cornfield. My bare feet were covered with dirt.
I had done it... just like I always knew I could. It was simple - so simple. I knew how to jump across the life string at almost any point, and more importantly, return. A change was taking place in my life. I hoped it was for the good.
I hurried over to the closet where my clothes lay, rumpled and lumped as I took them off before bed. I tugged on the pants and pulled the shirt over my head without bothering to unbutton it. I had been wearing sandals and reached for them before I realized my error. "Nope, too cold for those." I thought. "Better get a coat too. And a flashlight! And money!"
Better dressed for the weather where I was headed, I gave one quick glance around the shop before I thought of Mrs. Martin as she would have been in then. Before I even realized it, I was in 1956.
Mrs. Martin had said that she lived in Stockbridge, not more than two miles from my shop. Glancing around, I didn't think she would have lived anywhere else but in one of the houses that fronted the road about two miles west. I headed there, walking slowly through the cornstalks. After a good hour of walking I came upon a path running the rear of the house. I guessed this was the "ally" she had mentioned. I turned left down the alley, looking for signs of a dog. Half way up, I found what I was looking for.
It had gotten dark while I sat outside the front door of the house. There had been considerable barking and growling coming from the small rancher in the center, so I peaked in a kitchen window when no one was looking Inside there was a young girl of maybe seven years old. Young, impetulent, and spoiled, she was chasing a dog around and around. She cornered it in the dining room and took the toy from its' mouth. The dog whipped around and must have barked, because the girl jumped, laughing.
When the parents came in, the girl said something to the parents and jumped up, taking the dogs' toy to the front door. She opened the door and threw the toy out. As she did I could hear her yelling "I don't like the dog!" and stormed off to the dining room, the parents in tow, leaving the dog to stare out the door after the toy. The dog glanced at the little girl, and with an obvious decision, raced out the front door after the toy.
Picking it up, she started back to the house when something else caught her eye - a squirrel playing in the yard across the street. In an instant she was after it, completely oblivious to the next-door neighbor's car coming down the street. It only took a second. I doubt the dog ever knew what had happened. The neighbor jumped out of the car - saw the dog and recognizing it - stared at the little girls house for a second and then picked up the dog and put it in the trunk before driving off very fast. So now I knew what happened to Fluffy and why she never came home. Chances are the neighbor never told anyone about hitting the dog.
I could have followed the neighbor somehow and gotten the collar but I now had a better idea . . .
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It had gotten dark while I sat outside the rear door of the house. There had been considerable barking and growling coming from the small rancher in the center, so I peaked in a kitchen window when no one was looking. Inside there was a young girl of maybe seven years old. Young, impetulent, and spoiled, she was chasing a dog around and around. She cornered it in the dining room and took the toy from its' mouth. The dog whipped around and must have barked, because the girl jumped, laughing.
When the parents came in, the girls said something to the parents and jumped up, taking the dogs' toy to the front door. She opened the door and threw the toy out. As she did I could hear her yelling "I don't like the dog!" and stormed off to the dining room, the parents in tow, leaving the dog to stare out the door after the toy. The dog glanced at the little girl, and with an obvious decision, raced out the front door after the toy.
Picking it up, she started back to the house when something else caught her eye - a squirrel playing in the yard across the street. In an instant she was after it, completely oblivious to the next-door neighbor's car coming down the street. It only took a second. I stepped quickly out of my hiding spot beside the door and grabbed the dog as it came by. It was risky, but I doubt the neighbor ever knew what had happened. Tucking the dog under my coat, I left as quickly as I could and returned to the field.
It was a moral dilemma I now faced. I had saved the dogs' life and it could go back to that little girl and things might be different for her. Her life changed. But she had already endured the agony of losing the pet, so I made my decision.
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Mrs. Martin was a regular, coming in every Thursday just to look at the. rings. I carried extra case with me and every time I found an unusual heirloom ring, if it wasn't too much, I'd pick it up for Mrs. Martin. Then, on Wednesday’s, I'd pull in the shelf with the gift watches on it and replace it with the rings. Today was an exception.
The doorbell tinkled its' tinkle-tinkle as Mrs. Martin pushed open the old teak door of the shop and stepped into the small vestibule - her eyes blinking, trying to adjust to the darkness of the shop. Even though it was located in a back corner of noname commercial strip joint and in the glare of the neon lights day and night, the shop always seemed to be dark. No matter how many times I'd wash the window or how many lamps I used, it still was dark. She stood silently, trying to wipe the wrinkles from her coat with her hand. She glanced up to see if I was in my usual spot behind the counter and, not seeing me, swung around to look behind the beaded curtain that was used to separate the shop from the two rooms behind that I called home. I came through just in time to see her sigh in relief.
"Ahwww goodness, Mr. Metcafe, Ye gave an old lady a fright ye did, now. I expect ye to be where's I can see's ye, and instead ye come a different direction... no good for this old heart - no sire not good a'all." She scolded.
"I rightly apologize, Mrs. Martin. I had a pot of water heating for tea and wanted to finish it before you came in. Would you like to join me in a cup?"
"Whay.. . that'd be right nice of ye, Mr. Metcafe. Right nice. Yes, I would like a cup ... just the thing to take the chill of these old bones, now'd winter is settin' in."
"Then please allow me the pleasure of pouring, if you don't mind." I smiled and took the tray I was carrying and set it down gently on top the case where the rings were.
"Perhaps you'd like to look at the latest selection of rings while you have your tea, Madame?"
"Aw yes, the rings. Tell me Mr. Metcafe, why do ye have such a wide and varied selection of rings? Why is it that every time I come in, ye seem to have a new selection... something more wonderful than the previous time?"
I hesitated before I answered thinking of the best way to approach the subject, finally settling on 'let the horses be damned full steam ahead' or something like that. "I always noticed that you seemed interested in the rings." I said. "And thought perhaps you were looking for one particular style or even a unique piece. Nothing I've found seems to be the right one. However, I have recently just this week found one piece you haven't seen yet, perhaps you'd be so kind as to take a look?"
"Welll, I'm not sure, really. Perhaps I don't have the interest in rings ye believe I have..."
"Nonsense dear lady. Although I must tell you that this new acquisition is a bit unusual. It isn't a ring, really. More like a collar ring, a dog collar ring. I suppose you wouldn't be interested in that kind of item would you, Mrs. Martin?"
"Dog collar ring?" she stammered. "What does it look like? Can ye tell me?"
"But of course. It is silver - even has a name engraved on it - Fluffy I believe it is. Why Mrs. Martin! Are you all right??! Please sit down and rest, I didn't know..."
"No no.. I'm quite alright... need some air is all." Mrs. Martin sat, as pale as the new moon on a cloudy night. "Can I see this ring, please, Mr. Metcafe?"
"Well, yes, But.... ummm... there is a problem, I’m afraid…”
"What problem?"
"Well ... let me ask you ... do you like dogs, Mrs. Martin?"
"Why, yes, do ye ask?"
"Then there's no problem, no problem at all. You see, the collar is around a dog’s neck. A cute little black ball of fur. It seems like she answers to the name of Fluffy. Would you like to see the collar now, Mrs. Martin?"... "Mrs. Martin?"... "Mrs. Martin?"
"Whaa?? Ahh.. Yes, yes. I would like to very much."
"Please wait. I'll be back shortly."
In the back I picked up the dog where she had been laying on my bed. She seemed no worse for wear - time travel seemed to agree with her - and carried her into the shop. Mrs. Martin stood and cried out when she saw the object I carried. The dog seemed just as eager to reach Mrs. Martin, indeed practically jumping out of my arms and into the outstretched arms of Mrs. Martin. Tears streamed down Mrs. Martin's face, only to be immediately licked away by Fluffy, who wriggled to get as close as she could to Mrs. Martin's face.
Mrs. Martin and Fluffy walked out of the shop together. I have not seen them since. It was so easy just to come back a day early . . .
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I’ve had few customers since then. Oh, sure, I’ve plenty of regular folks stop by. Many people come in and browse the shelves. Most leave with what they came with. Some find what they were looking for - but only a very few searching for something special … something unique.
Take Mrs. Vossberg for example. She comes rushing in one day near Christmas, her arms loaded with packages. She’s rushing from counter to counter, mumbling about something she’s lost and can’t find. Finally spotting me, she drops her packages to the floor, stares me right in the eye and shouts “I’ve lost my virginity 40 years ago and I need you to help me find it!” So I did. But that’s another story – for another time.
How about you? Lost something special or looking for something that got away? My shop is still here at the Red Lion. Around the corner, toward the back. I don’t advertise so there’s no sign. If you need me you’ll find me. Just ask anybody.
