Black Cat Bone

I rummaged through the old, dusty attic. The summer was hot, and I was bored. As my grandmother would say, "Only boring people get bored." So there I was, quietly not moaning about boredom so I didn't have to hear my trite grandmother repeat those words. I found trinkets and what seemed to be pure garbage. This was my third odyssey into the attic, and I was losing my nerve. Just as the boredom started to peak, I let out a faint yell and kicked a lost loose box.

The box traveled farther than I anticipated, and I followed it wildly into the darker corner of the attic. I had not adventured into this corner, but I fearlessly went to find the box. The box was forgotten when I saw an intricately carved wooden box with the Taj Mahal on the lid. This particular box was tucked away, and no light reached it. The wood was a dark cherry, with light streams from weathering as if some of the wood was driftwood. The paint was golden, and I wondered if it was real gold. I decided to open the lid, though something told me I shouldn't. I did it anyways. My gut was rolling with anticipation. I noticed at first that the box seemed empty; realizing that the box was deeper, I pulled the top tray out.

I saw a single bracelet underneath that fine wooden tray, a tray that was as light as a feather. The jade was interspaced with white beads. I wasn't sure what it could be, but I had an idea who might.

I placed the wooden box in the back of my closet and carefully tucked the bracelet into my pocket. I touched the bracelet as I walked and felt the bracelet buzzing. There's no way it was buzzing, right? I held it a little tighter, the feeling moving through my fingers.

I approached grandmother from the right since her hearing was terrible on the left and touched her shoulder. She jumped slightly and smiled at me pleasantly.

"Hi, grandmother. Can I ask you something?" I smiled at her, my hand still on the bracelet. I felt the bracelet heating up in my hand. She nodded her head slightly and set her knitting down to the side. I pulled the bracelet out and held it out to her. She looked at the bracelet, her face dropped, and she looked up at me, scared. She reached out her hand, it trembling more than usual. Her hand dropped before touching the bracelet. I took a moment to put the bracelet back in my pocket, and it was finally calm again.

"Honey, that was supposed to be hidden. That is an extraordinary bracelet. I believe it has chosen you." She finally said.

"But grandmother, it has chosen me; what do you mean? What is the bead next to the jade made of?" I asked.

"Oh honey, you will know soon what I mean. The bead is made of black cat bone. I'm going to start making dinner. I can't talk about the bracelet, and the bracelet will explain everything when you are ready.." She sighed as she went to the kitchen.

I sat down where my grandmother had vacated. The desire to hold the bracelet was visceral, and I gingerly felt my fingertips along the bracelet. I thought about what my grandmother had said. I wanted to inquire more. However, I knew my grandmother was as stubborn as I was. I could ask, but those questions would be disregarded. Perhaps I could look into it independently, and I knew very little about jade and black cat bone. I cringed as I thought about the beads being from a cat. Is this true? Can this be real?

After the next couple of hours passed with grandmother and me in relative silence and niceties. I went to my room with the bracelet. The box may have some answers. I may not have looked at the box close enough. I pulled the box out of its hideout and opened the top again. The box seemed to whisper, begging me to open it again, though another part of me was conflicted about being near it.

I looked underneath the tray and expected to see nothing. There was a picture. I looked in horror as I realized the picture was of me. However, I looked older and was in something I would think Daisy Buchanan would wear. A flapper dress with sequins and dangling beads, the color of heavy cream, and my hair was rolled with a headband with a feather. I examined the picture more and saw I had the bracelet on. I was on a man's arm I didn't recognize; however, I seemed to know him intimately in the picture. I flipped the image over and saw the date, April 20th, 1922—an actual Scott Fitzgerald moment; maybe I was Daisy, which was one of my favorite daydreams to think about.

I again turned the image over to examine it further and saw it was now blank. Simply a black piece of photo paper, even the date, was not there anymore. I set the paper down in the box as though I had been instructed. The bracelet felt as if it was one fire in my pocket. I quickly put the box away. I knew what the bracelet wanted; I needed to put it on. There was something it wanted to show me. Though I was freaking out, I knew the world was so much more than we saw, and I felt that this was a benevolent spirit wanting me to follow its lead. I put the bracelet on and lay on my bed, and I could sense the relief from the bracelet.

I drifted into what I thought was sleep; however, I was on the couch in a small room when I awoke, if you could call it that. I sat up, my head throbbing. I managed to hobble over to the mirror in the corner and see that my face was that of me from the picture I saw. I looked at my face in the mirror in detail. I was me, though I was at least ten years older. That would make me thirty-two. I looked at the cream-colored dress; it was beautiful and heavy. I looked around the room; it was exactly what I would imagine a back room of a stage would look like. A man knocked on my door and walked in as if on cue.

"Listen, my darling bearcat, are you ready to sing? That crowd out there sure is loud." He was the man from the picture, with a defined jawline and brown eyes. No, not just brown; there were like coffee with a splash of cream, and I felt drawn to him. I looked to my left wrist, and the bracelet was on and relaxed on my gloves. He grabbed my hand and spun me around as a man who had come in behind him snapped a picture. The man then grabbed my face and kissed me. I looked at him with my eyes wide.

"Oh baby blue, who are the bee's knees? Get out there and give them a show." He said and smacked my butt as I hustled out the door. I was starstruck by the kiss and looked around, unsure where I was going. I saw a stagehand beckon me forward.

"Miss, you're on next. Are you okay?" He looked nervous but concerned. I smiled at him ruefully and whispered, "I'm fine." I went where he pointed and saw that I was expected to walk onstage. My body seemed to know what to do, so I gave in to the sensations. I trusted the bracelet to help me in this period and help with my new career as a singer in a speakeasy. I could see many men and women drinking and see the bar sign in the corner, "Kitty Got Wet."

I slowly walked to the microphone in the center of the stage, and as the sensations took hold, I grabbed the mic. As the piano player started playing, a hush came over the crowd. A couple of men whistled at me, and I felt my body give them some sultry looks as my voice took off singing. My voice was deep and dramatic, something I couldn't ever pull off in my present life. As the song ended, the man from the photo walked on next to me. He gracefully took the microphone from me and slithered his arm around my waist.

"Isn't she simply magical, everyone?" He asked, in a voice like hot chocolate. The crowd whistled at that remark, and the place resumed its loud buzzing. I followed the man by the hand to backstage again. Someone on the way back put a drink in my hand, and I couldn't help but gulp it all down. The man and I made it to the room, and he closed the door and locked it. He looked at me sternly, causing me to drop the glass. The room's silence punctuated the loud crash, and I quickly dropped to pick up the big pieces of glass, muttering to myself.

The man dropped down with me and grabbed my hand, "are you okay?" He asked his voice low. I looked up then and held his gaze. I saw his eyes were soft, the corners wrinkling slightly at the sides. He had a small smile, and he spoke again. "My name is Thiago; I am sure this is the first time you have met me, who have looked like a puppy the whole night. But I am telling you, we have met before." His eyes searched my face for recognition. I looked at him and knew he believed what he was saying. "What are you talking about?" I asked him incredulously. He lifted my left wrist to his lips, kissed the bracelet, and handed me an envelope.

"We will see each other again; I will find you; however, you need to WAKE UP right now." He yelled at me, and I instinctively closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I was lying down in my room, in my bed. I shivered as I looked at the envelope in my hand; inside, the picture of us from that night in the stage room, and another picture of us in what looked to be London, the date saying May 9th, 1941.