Blog Post

Oh the Stories it Could Tell

June 14, 2020

“Have you ever been to a shop of antiques? Old items sitting in place, more like a museum than a store. Each carries a story. A person or people, that only they possess. Only they remember. The last piece of a time long past with flashes of memory no one will ever know. That is why I love antiques.” The girl replied to the question as she looked for the object she wanted to show the customer.

She picked up the locket as memories flashed in her mind. Placing it on the counter she let the customer look it over.

“If you like it, you can give it new stories and keep its legacy going.”

The young man, who she swore could have been an ogre, looked over the locket.

“Is it for anyone special?” she asked.

“My girlfriend. She loves the thought of value being on the inside of something, versus its outer appearance.” he answered as he opened the delicate necklace to look inside.

“She is very smart. What do you think? Will you take it?” 

He inspected it as she noticed traces of flour on his hands and clothes.

“I will take it. I think she will love it. I’m going to put our pictures in and her ring.”

“You are proposing with the locket? That is so sweet!”

“Thank you,” he blushed, “I wanted it to follow our theme. And I wanted to give her more than just a ring. Thank you for your help! I know she will love it.” He said paying for the locket and leaving with hopeful dreams in his eyes. 

“Go and find new stories my friend.” The girl spoke to the locket as the young man walked down the street.

The stories the locket told were of new birthdays, long life, a token of affection so that love would not be forgotten, deaths and births, lives, until it came to her shop. Now it would continue to gain more stories from more generations.

The girl knew the objects she watched over held no actual life of their own, but they all held a piece of a person who knew them before. People she would never meet from times or places she never lived, but were real and living all the same.

She sorted through a box of a recent collection given up by family members who did not understand the treasures they possessed.

One object caught her eye. A medal, seeming to be one made by a child, but looking to resemble a military one of sorts. She concentrated with her hands around the object as a story began to unfold before her.

“I made this for you! You are a Captain, but I am a general so you have to listen to what I say. Okay?” The little boy asked in clothes from a century before.

“Alright General. What will we do first?” A young man’s hand reached out ruffling the boy’s hair. 

Time seemed to skip as the young man looked in the mirror dressed in full uniform. He had a sweet smile. The young man looked at the medal and pocketed it as his focus turned to an older woman. Then to the little boy from before.

“Doesn’t your brother look fine in his uniform?” The boy’s mother asked him.

“I don’t want you to go.” He said, giving his brother a hug.

“I know, General, but I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The girl smiled as the scene changed again. Two officers, a letter, and the medal.

The girl took her hands off the medal, not wanting to see anymore. She did not want to see the family torn apart, but something pulled at her to see where the two brother’s lives ended.

Two officers, a letter, the medal, and the dear mother crying for her lost son. The little General would not believe it. He wouldn’t. It wasn’t true.

The little General was not so little anymore as he glanced in the mirror, looking very much like his brother. 

“Hey General, you ready?” An older version of the young lost son asked, coming into the room in a wheelchair. He was missing both legs, but was still very much alive.

“Would you stop calling me that?”

“Just as soon as you stop bossing me around. Come on, we better get you down stairs. Your bride will be waiting.” The older brother winked and then wheeled away. 

The younger brother stood at the end of the aisle with his brother at his side.

“You have the rings?”

“Yes.”

“I know I forgot something.” He said unfocused.

“We got everything. I checked every time you asked. Relax, you are getting married to the woman you love. Enjoy the moment.”

The little brother turned to his older one and bent down, pinning something to the suit.

“What are you,” The older brother paused seeing the little medal pinned to his chest.

“I thought you should have it. After all, my best man should have something special. And also you are our something old.”

“I am not old.”

“Boys?” The pastor up front cleared his throat as they turned to look down the aisle as the bride entered.

“Grandpa, what is this?” A little boy asked, pulling on the Grandfather’s shirt.

“That is a medal given to me by a very special person.”

“The president?”

“No.”

“The king?”

“Nope.”

“Then who?”

“My brother. When he was about your age. He is and was a good man.”

“Why did he give it to you?”

“You know, I don’t really know. I was the Captain and he was the General cause he was so bossy.”

“Can I be the General?”

“You know, I think you very well could! You remind me of him.”

“Good and you can be my Captain!”

“Sounds familiar. Come here.”

The little boy stood in front of his grandfather, “There.” He said pinning the medal to the little boy’s chest. “This will keep you safe in battle and give you courage to fight.” 

“Really?”

“Yep! Always keep it with you.”

The last memory was of a box and then it all faded away. The girl wiped a tear from her eye and felt sadness. No one would treasure this little medal and the stories it held the way it was before.

A ding from the shop bell signaled a customer. She wiped the tears away as she went to the front.

A man around her age stood in front of her, looking familiar as if from a dream.

“Hi! Do you work here?” He asked.

“Yes, how can I help you? Are you looking for anything in particular?” 

“I’m looking for a box.”

The girl looked around trying to think out of all the boxes she still had to go through from at least twenty different individuals. And how in the world would she find the one he was looking for in that description. 

“Well more specifically I am looking for a little medal. It doesn’t look like it would be anything important, but it holds a lot of meaning for my family.”

The girl went back to where she left the medal and brought it to the front.

“Is this it?” She asked, knowing full well it would be.

“Yes! Thank you! It is a really special medal. My great grandfather’s brother gave it to him. It has kind of been a good luck charm for us. It keeps us safe in battle and gives us courage to fight. How much do I owe you?”

“You don’t owe me anything. It is your family’s. I am glad it is back where it belongs. It has a lot of stories.”

“Yeah it does. How do you know?” He asked as the girl shrugged, “Anyway I still feel like I owe you. This means a lot to my family and I couldn’t just let your kindness go. Can I repay you maybe with a coffee and pastry? I know a great bakery and the owner is a friend of mine. And if that doesn’t sell it I can also tell you stories about the medal?”

She laughed, “I would love to.” 

“Perfect. I swear it will be great stories and the best pastries you have ever had. How about I come in tomorrow to ask about a time and day? I would now, but the reason I am in a hurry is that my sister is leaving for a training camp. I was gonna give her the medal, but then I found out it was accidentally put in the box that was supposed to go here. I was hoping that somehow I could find it before she leaves. Thank you for giving it to me.”

“Of course! Wish her safe travel and training. And I will see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” He said with a wink as he left.

She could definitely tell he was related to his great grandfather.

Alone again with all the stories that surrounded her. As she looked outside she saw people walking past, barely noticing one another.

How could they be so unaware?

There were so many stories. So many different perspectives, worlds really. 

Different and unique, yet could be so similar. She liked the stories, listening to people as they opened up about themselves. As they told her a tale only they could about their life experience, a time or place she might never know herself.

She loved the items around her because they carried a glimpse of a life, but she loved people because they carried stories full and oftentimes passed down from generations.

How she wished they would notice each other and share those stories, notice that they were not alone. That their stories connected them, their joys, pains, losses, celebrations of life. Their dreams! Moments. Each unique and different and somehow similar. 

Stories. 

The people in the past, the ones we walk beside now, have lived and are all living stories of their own. 

Take a moment, notice another, hear their story, and gain one more perspective in the world that we share and call life.