Afterimages

 “Lydia, are you in there?”  It was Chaot’s voice from the front of the store. 

“Yes?”  Lydia called.  She waited a moment, and then Chaot’s face appeared in the doorway.  She looked curiously at the items her employer was holding.

 “Ooh, disgusta-mundo!  What’re all these old odds and ends you’re diggin’ up in here?”

“You’ve just described it better than I could,” Lydia answered.  “But it’s interesting.  I don’t even know all of what’s in my own building!”

“I bet there’re lots of those daddy-long-legs spider things and . . . centipedes and all kinds of creepies, huh?”  Chaot grimaced good-naturedly.

“Oh, I’ve seen a few so far, but it’s not bad.”

“Well, anyway, I’m sorry to bother you, but your friends are here.”

“You don’t mean Yellow Fluffhead and Rat-Face Rugosa, do you?”

“Oh, no,” Chaot laughed, “it’s Jeff and Skyler.”

“Would you mind asking them to come in here?”

“In here?”

Lydia nodded.

“Whatever,” Chaot said with a shrug.  “Okay, I’ll send them in.”

Soon, Skyler peered through the doorway and stepped into the storage room, followed by Jeff.

“Come on in!” Lydia said excitedly. “You’ve got to see this!”

They passed around the postcards.  Lydia reached into the bag again.  Some of the things, those made of paper or cloth, had disintegrated from age, but she could make out the remains of a paper parasol and a pair of leis made of white crepe paper flowers. 

The item that had made the bag heavy was a crystal snow globe, still containing the water and “snow” which, when shaken up, swirled about tiny replicas of the park’s principle buildings.  There was a nice set of Chinese wind chimes made of glass; a framed 8x10 photograph of an attractive young couple holding hands and standing within the curve of an elegant heart-shaped staircase.  There was a thermometer mounted to a large metal key, with a gold F. P. Emblem inlaid in the bronze casting; a glass ashtray, and a small, heavy, 78 rpm phonograph record.  Lydia pulled out the dusty black disk and looked for any indication of what was on it.  The label in the center showed the F.P. logo and the title, “The Place to Be,” with a copyright date of 1928.  The title on the opposite side of the record was “Fantasima Pointe plays the Charleston.”

“What’s that?”  Skyler asked.

“I don’t know,” Lydia said, “but I can’t wait to hear it.  This is incredible!”

“It could be the music,” Jeff suggested, taking the record and turning it over in his hands. “An actual recording of that music I’ve been hearing around here all summer.  How the hell are we going to get an old 78 record player in working order?”

“We’ll find a way,” Lydia answered, reaching back into the bag for the last item at the bottom.  She grasped a white cardboard box, and held it up before her eyes.  Silently, she took a deep breath, and stared at the box.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, and held the box out to Jeff and Skyler.  “Look at them.  Aren’t they beautiful?”

Nobody said a word.  The white box was cut out in the front to reveal its contents.  Inside was a pair of porcelain dolls, each about eight inches tall, with long, dark brown hair.  They were identical twins; just two of the same doll, actually.  They wore ruffly costumes of lace and a silver fabric that had lost its glittery appearance with age.  Imprinted on the box were the words, “Fantasima Pointe’s Luna and Venus.  Collectors’ edition.”        

“Look, there’s writing on the back!” Skyler exclaimed as Jeff carefully handled the box. “Turn it over.  What does it say?”  The handwriting was faded to a dull brownish color, but it was still legible.