A Miracle?

CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER

 

'Look at this, Alma. Isn't it adorable?' Judy holds up a small, supposedly porcelain pig, for me to coo over. I reply, ' It's nose is black and cracked and should be pink. It's a piece of junk. Put it back on the table.'

 

'How about this, Alma? It fits perfectly.' A shiny, surely fake, emerald ring is on her pinkie. 'That does look pretty. Let me try it on Alma.' I watch her struggle and struggle but she can't get it off. I scare the dickens out of her. 'Well then, I'll have to cut your finger off, Dummy!' Fear makes her eyes bulge out and she starts sucking on her finger, slobbering on her blouse. Finally the ring comes off and rolls on the floor. I chase it and grab it just as it is about to go under a table that has old fashioned oil lamps on display.

 

The neighborhood sidewalk sale is getting busier by the minute. There are lots of folks looking over old books. I glance quickly and decide against spending my money on something I'll never read. I stand on a rickety rattan chair looking for Judy. Mrs. MacPherson probably owns the chair and hopes to get it out of her basement. She tugs at my slax and motions for me to get down, taps me not too hard on my rear end, and tells me to go bother somebody else.

 

Hats fascinate me. A neighbor I've never seen before has two card tables taped together. On them are hats, hats from the early 40's, 50's, feathered hats, felt ones with big and little brims, silk flowers in the bands. I learn the lady's name is Crawford and ask her if I can try a few on. 'Of course, dear Child. Help yourself.' There is only one mirror available and I hog it. The mirror speaks to me, 'Hey, dope, where will you wear any of these? Go someplace else.' 'What?' I ask the mirror and almost fall over unconscious. The mirror speaks again. 'Go find your friend, Judy. She's in trouble.' One more look and I watch it  fog over. Mrs. Crawford stashes it under her table.

 

Toys, my lord, how many kinds, for all ages, right up to second childhood are falling off the tables. I have no wish to get close, to touch any fuzzy panda, check out a Monopoly game that surely has missing pieces, smoke a bubble pipe. Mrs. Blitz has the busiest table of all. She must be making a mint and will probably buy toys for her great grandchildren with her boodle.

 

A strange sensation is coming over me. My right leg is twitching as if something is inside it, trying to get out. I spot Judy over near the same table where she found the fake emerald ring. 'Judy, Judy!' I call.
'I need you.' She waves but doesn't come over. While I wait for her, my
finger begins to itch, to feel hot. I walk over to a pitcher of water some kind neighbor has on her table with paper cups. 'May I have a drink, Ma am?' I ask. 'Sure, have ten cents?'

 

I nod and reach in my pocket for a dime and find the fake emerald ring covered with a piece of used Kleenex. With ease it slips on my finger, off and on. It is just right so I leave it on and cover my finger when next I see Judy.

 

I spot her spinning around and around a long wooden table that is covered with an embroidered cloth. Its color is still vibrant . Little pink fairies dance around flower beds. The cloth almost sings to me. I want to buy it for my grandmother but she has a round table with big claw feet. The owner of the cloth approaches me, realizes I look interested in it, tells me its been used for 75 years. Her aunt Tillie had embroidered it and she was always its caretaker. Now she has looked at it long enough and is ready to sell it.

 

My grandmother has an identical cloth but hers is round. 'Our family uses ours on special occasions It doesn't get rubbed in our cellar tubs, but go right to a fancy dry cleaner after we use it for Xmas. I explain again that my grandmother's old table is round so this one fit. A soft, pleasant look comes over her face. 'Wait right here,' The lady says. I move around but return to the table when I see her coming. She is carrying a large white box that has a silver bow on top. Laying it on the table, on top of the rectangle cloth, she removes the ribbon and pulls out the new cloth. It is identical to the first one except it is round. I am stunned., don't know what to say. Eventually, with close. careful scrutiny, I see the cloth maker's initials in the center of a yellow rose. T.R.L, my grandmother's name is Theodora Rosalynd Langford..
My god, My god, my grandmother made this round cloth. How much is it?' 'I'll accept a dinner invitation as payment so cloth can again meet its maker and we can check further into our history.'

 

With  quick thinking, I believe you, young lady may be my great, grand- niece. ' Call me Aunt Beverly and invite me for dinner next week to be served on the round cloth.' Right or wrong, memories will fly and we'll all have pumpkin pie, a la mode for dessert.' I start to walk away and am called back, 'Here, don't you want my name , address, phone, cell, Apad info?'

 

She  takes out her bright yellow calling card  and hands it to me. I open my purse and get my bright yellow card out of my wallet. We can't believe we both have the same color cards.  I tell Beverly to look up 'Believe it or Not' by Ripley.' I think we have a chance of getting in the files.