The day was so hot and humid, everyone I saw was sweating profusely, especially me. For a few minutes I wished I had stayed at the beach. At least I could dive in the Atlantic Ocean and cool off. That was my next plan as soon as I checked out this one particular street.
The beginning of the street was a step back into the deep South, a long, slow walk into the past. Begonia's of every color stood in flower pots, hung from planters and grew in flower beds. Ferns were growing in huge pots hanging from street lamps. Some of the ferns measured two feet in width. The street was awash in life and color and palm trees. Petunias joined the begonias as well as marigolds. Bird of Paradise plants grew tall and stately. The colors of red, yellow, purple, orange and green set the cracked sidewalk ablaze.
The street began to slowly decay the farther I walked. There was one shop at the end of the street I wanted to see. The name on the sign hanging in front of the pawn shop read, "The Last Chance". The little store was a weathered yellow color badly in need of a new coat of paint. The shutters painted hunter green were peeling in the heat. The owner had pots of flowers and herbs on either side of the entry door. Rosemary for remembrance. Red geraniums planted for friendship, with yellow daisies planted for hope. Ivy mixed and mingled with the other plants, living up to it's legend for friendship.
I paused as I entered the shop, the air conditioning took my breath. The coolness was mixed with the aroma of cinnamon tea brewing somewhere out of sight. The shop was lit with hand painted glass lamps. No two were alike. One side of the room was filled with books. Two rocking chairs sat in front of the walled bookcases. A round table with a tapestry tablecloth separated the two chairs. Asleep in the first rocking chair was a calico cat. The room was dated but very inviting.
The owner came out to greet me. She parted two long gathered curtains of red and yellow calico material to make her entrance. At once I was struck by her beauty and with the feeling that everything I was looking at was a reflection of her life.
She was a small woman with hair the color of cotton in late August. Her eyes were watery and brown. She wore small round gold glasses. She dabbed her eyes continually with a white linen handkerchief as she talked. It was hard to define her age. She was elderly but nothing about her told her age. She could have been anywhere from 70 to a 100. The lady was delightful to look at and talk to. She was standing behind a jewelry case watching me look at her valuables. I found a gold locket and chain that I really liked. I asked her if I could take a closer look at the locket. She hesitated for a minute and said, "Honey, you don't really want that locket."
I was surprised by her answer, wondering why it was in the case if it was not for sale. I told her that I did indeed like the locket and would like to purchase it if the price was right. She hesitated and again said in her soft southern drawl, "Honey, you really don't want this locket." I was baffled and asked her why she didn't want to sell it to me.
At first I thought she hadn't heard what I said, she took so long to answer and then she began to tell her story. She was talking but not to me. She was reliving a memory I had disturbed.
She told me I did not want to purchase a piece of jewelry that had belonged to someone who had taken her own life. She said it was bad luck and she did not wish me " ill will." We were both silent for awhile. She was lost in her thoughts, I was trying to digest what she had just said. I wondered who had been wearing the necklace when she took her own life. I didn't ask the lady. For some reason, I think it would have made her cry.
I should have excused myself and left but I wondered what would happen to the necklace when the owner of the shop was gone. There was no price tag on it, nothing to show it could be reclaimed by family members. I asked her what she would do with it. She smiled a faraway smile and said, "Everything will be auctioned off when I am gone. Someone, somewhere will buy this locket and all of it's problems, but it won't be today and it won't be you."
I turned around to leave when I heard her say in a barely audible voice, "God have mercy on their soul, is all I can say." Then she turned and walked through the curtains. I felt a chill in the air as I opened the door and stepped out into the heat. Completely opposite to what I should have felt.
Hurriedly I made my way to the car and back to the pier and Tommy. I really needed a hug to get rid of this odd, cold feeling that had attached itself to my heart. The drive was nice. The sun was about to set leaving vivid strips of color roaming across the sky. Slowly the odd feeling left. When I reached the pier Tommy wanted to know about my day. I started to tell him my story but stopped. This wasn't the time or the place. I told him I would tell him later. I never did.
Today I tell the story. For some reason I can't explain I think the old lady died this weekend. I wonder who will buy the locket?
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