Brownstonelit's Blog

11/23/10
Last night I had a dream. But it was like one of those dreams where you feel you are awake as you are having it. I was writing the Prologue to the book and it began something like this…

“…Slivers of warm breathe escaped from her mouth and hung in the cold air between us. Her eyes, gray like her father’s fixed on the spot just to the right of my foot. The next sixty seconds were going to be crucial. What if it wasn’t there? What if it was?
The latex gloves rubbed and made odd sounds as I pulled them across my skin. I wasn’t crazy about the way they felt, but I had been warned that in order to participate I must follow standard procedure. I waited patiently as others complied, then punched R’s number into my cell. Once the line had been secured, I nodded to the agents beside me. They initiated both the film and photo sequence, recording the first grid. I spoke softly to the psychic medium detective on the other end. She implied I needed to reposition the small hand trowel closer to the left side of the opening, grid #2 and begin my excavation there.
The agent took my lead and with a glorified paint brush, began to sweep small mounds of sandy surface dirt to the side. A few clicks of camera and a constant hum from the video cam kept vigil in the background. I placed the trowel to the earth and moved about an inch of surface fodder away from the grid line. Another round of photos ensued. The videographer motioned that I back away a few inches to allow greater access for the camera. I did. I didn’t care what they asked me to do. I would have painted myself like one of their dime store hookers and danced naked as bait for Grim in the middle of town square if that’s what it took to be there when they pulled it out. Nobody was going to keep me from being present after all I had been through to get there… no one.
I held the trowel up while the agent to my left used the long lashes of the brush again to clear for the next entry. As he did, a section of synthetic tines ran interference with what appeared to be the rusted edge of a can. This was it. It had to be. Charley had promised and had delivered so often I could not even begin to concede of failure to retrieve at this point. Hands shaking, I gave the trowel over to the agent in charge. He took the tip of the trowel and tried to break the clay around the extruding piece. Heart pounding, I realized this was our moment of truth. It had taken 78 weeks of intensive research for me to get this far-, but for Charley and his family-44 years. Together however, it had taken us a lifetime.
I gave R the description of the object- she confirmed and I motioned for the activity to continue. The agent made several gentle stabbing motions at the area surrounding the lip of the can. Fragments of clay shifted and fell away. Another round of clicking broke the silence. I chanced to look up at Julie for just a second. Her breath ragged, she smiled weakly and then returned her gaze to the earth below us.
Larger chunks removed, the brush returned. Long, slow strokes like elephant lashes slowly began to erode away the years and another few inches of the canister was revealed. What color had not been compromised by dirt and rust shown blue under the camera lights. I recognized it immediately. A small inappropriate laugh squeaked from my throat.
“I’ll be damned” I said. No one seemed to catch the segue, but Charley. He knew. He had always known. Two more strokes with the trowel brought the moniker into view and confirmed my guess- Maxwell House. I crossed my fingers, said a silent prayer that their slogan was not in vain. The brush and the trowel worked in tandem for another 7 minutes and then with somber voice, the agent announced the can appeared to be intact and that it clearly showed signs of the possible remains of something inside.
It was there. Now the question was…
What condition was it in?”
(Copyright 2010)

Interested in reading Chapter One yet???

This entry was posted on November 23, 2010 at 4:03 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.