Parchment Monkey

Pamela rolled over and glanced at the clock on her nightstand.  It was three a.m. and once again she was wide awake.  She lay there watching the menacing red numbers changing with each slowly passing minute.  Three-eighteen, three-nineteen, three-twenty.  Fluffing her pillow, she rolled away from the accusing time display but there was no comfort in that lonely bed.

“I might as well get up,” she thought.  “Lying here is just making it worse.”  Turning on the bedside lamp, Pamela slowly rose from the tangled bedsheets and slid her feet into slightly chewed blue fuzzy slippers.  A reminder of the pet she had loved for so long, Pamela couldn’t bear to part with the mangled shoes.  These were the last remnant of Rascal and she would keep these nasty slippers until they literally fell apart.

Pamela shuffled into the kitchen intent on making a cup of herbal tea to help her get back to sleep.  Opening the pantry door she noticed a large decorative tea tin up on the top shelf.  Taking it down, she carried it to the kitchen table.  This was no ordinary tea tin; Pamela knew it was an accidental repository of memories — memories long stored away, to be re-discovered when needed.  She had found this tin earlier in the week in the farthest reaches of the pantry one day while gathering cans of soup for the upcoming church food drive.  At the time Pamela thought it must hold tea bags way past their prime and was going to throw it out but noticed a rattle when she moved it.  Busy with the food drive collection, she placed the tin back on the uppermost shelf.

Now here it was again and she gently took it down from the shelf and carried it over to the kitchen table.  Opening the tin, Pamela turned it upside down and shook something out onto the table.  It made quite a racket; metallic, and rattled all the way out of the tin.  As the item bounced onto the table, Pamela’s heart skipped a beat.  She became slightly woozy and sank quickly onto a rickety kitchen chair.

The air in the kitchen seemed colder; Pamela instinctively hugged herself and shuddered as she looked at the item on her table.  Staring back at Pamela was a small silver charm bracelet with many charms attached; a remnant of her teenage years.

“My stars, this must be 40 years old,” she remarked to herself although she was alone in the kitchen with no one to hear her comment.  “How did it get into that old tea tin and what is it doing on the pantry shelf?”  Pamela couldn’t for the life of her recall stashing jewelry in her kitchen pantry and momentarily worried she might be exhibiting the signs of the dementia so prevalent in her family.

Herbal tea forgotten, Pamela spread the bracelet out on the table and inspected it.  A bit tarnished, but that was to be expected after all these years stored away in a tea tin.  She counted at least 17 charms and as she ran her fingers over each charm the memories started flooding back.

The bracelet had been a gift from her father.  Pamela remembered bugging him relentlessly to buy her one for her birthday.  All her girlfriends had charm bracelets and Pamela didn’t want to feel left out.  Her father told her it was frivolous and she should quit thinking of jewelry and concern herself with her schoolwork.

On the morning of her 15th birthday, next to her cereal bowl was a black box wrapped up with a red bow.  Pamela gently opened the box and inside nestled in cotton was a sterling silver charm bracelet with one small charm attached.  Her father had recently traveled to California and while there found a small charm that was an orange crate with little oranges in it and on the outside of the crate were the names of various cities in California.  Pamela was so surprised and thrilled.

The next few years as her father continued to travel he would bring her home a new charm for her bracelet.  Pamela would watch as her father got out his soldering kit and soldered a new charm onto her bracelet.

Sitting in her kitchen, she could almost smell her father’s pipe smoke as he would affix new charms to the bracelet.  Pamela picked up the bracelet, now heavy with charms and noticed charms from other states; California, Florida, Pennsylvania, North Carolina.  She saw the small St. Christopher medal her devout Catholic grandmother had given her and smiled at the memory of the gruff old woman always worrying about Pamela’s immortal soul.

Some of the charms Pamela recalled buying for herself during family vacations; the tiny Micky Mouse figurine from Disneyworld and the two different charms from Ocean City, Maryland, her favorite beach hang out.

For her high school graduation, she received a charm with the initials of her high school, WSHS.  After graduation, Pamela traveled and continued adding to her collection of charms; Jamaica, Nassau, New Orleans, a little cruise ship from a trip to Nova Scotia, a covered wagon with a small tag saying Estes Park, Colorado.  There were other charms, too, some Pamela couldn’t remember their story at all.  She found she was rubbing her fingers along the little crate of oranges and smiling.

Pamela wrapped the bracelet in a piece of tissue paper and placed it back in the tea tin.  Using the stepstool, she climbed to the top shelf of the pantry and placed the tea tin behind some boxes.  It would be nice to re-discover it one day in the future and remember happier times again.

Looking at the clock on the stove, Pamela saw it was still early in the morning; only 4:30 a.m.  She put the kettle on for her herbal tea and thought perhaps she might be able to get a little sleep this night after all.

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