Thomas hadn't expected to be alive when the town's time capsule was opened. It seemed as though every family that occupied Savannah gathered in Monterey Square. The cool evening July air provided a breeze in attendance. Mayor Forge was to blame for such a rally. After the annual firework show two days ago, that tight-suited politician proclaimed with his southern drawl that "why, I say it's about time we open up that sunnuhvuhbitch!"
So, there was all of Savannah, eagerly awaiting the construction crew to finish digging up the rather wide hole in front of the Pulaski. The pillar standing tall where even Lady Liberty towers over to await the opening. Forge stood by his podium, anxious as he hoped he followed the right coordinates to the capsule. Hopefully he did, otherwise the press he hired, and the six prayers to the God Almighty would all go to waste. The crowd was consisted of heads, and thrilled whispers. Cameras were held at the ready, and almost all the young children were perched on top of the shoulders of their fathers. Thomas' right hand, balled up in a shaky fist as he mounted all of his weight on that ol' cane of his. It was a shock to the people in the crowd that this town's geezer even found the strength to walk his way over here. He did stick out, quite notably. At 87 years old, with a head balding in the center and the stickily white hairs that draped onto his shoulders like the hanging Spanish moss blanketing the scene. Those closest to him knew of their unfortunate position because of the rotten stench that waved over Thomas. "Old people smell," Thomas heard a kid say. Age had been very unkind to the man.
He's the only sole witness of the Savannah '22 party — a phrase forged by Mayor Forge. Thomas was present for it all. From the '09 axe murders, to the life and death of the Lucas Theatre. Forge even tried Thomas' apartment last night to convince Thomas to give a speech, a recount of sorts, of 1920's Savannah. Thomas' reply? A slamming of the door.
The dimming sky, and the glow of the amber park lamps were enough to send Thomas drifting to a series of flashbacks. He remembered walking to Christ Church on Sundays, in a crowd of bright pink and yellow dresses. Talks of the newcomers from the railroad in Tybee. Soldiers welcomed, and soldiers gone. Decaying buildings being the new hotspot for parties. Though, it was Anne who pierced through the blurred motion picture in his mind. The peach of his Georgia. The memory of Anne was soon soured by their old buddy, Sonny. The downfall to this trio of revelers was due to a petty feud that sparked between the boys over Anne.
Anne was the light of Thomas' eye since they were children. They were together before meeting Sonny and knew all there was to know about each other. She was the blond hair maiden with curls that won Thomas' heart. She carried herself as a butterfly would: graceful. When she walked, she would perch her chin up and take in the crisp aroma of the Savannah air.
Sonny, on the other hand, would rather see her gams than her at an altar. But Sonny had no real issue with women. He was a Blakely, and that surname alone grants him any dream. He was a stout fella, but with the head of a fighter no doubt. Though, Sonny often took home medals for brawns and beauty, whereas Thomas couldn't say the same. A lanky fellow, much like he was today, but with less wrinkles and a fuller head of hair. He carried himself like Anne, but with a horrid posture and longer arms. If Anne be the painted lady that flew about the trees, then Thomas was a moth that lingered on the light she shone from time to time.
The hoot of an owl pierced into his daydream, bringing Thomas back to the Savannah he knew all too well. Thomas recalls waking up from his bed that night to Sonny sending rocks tapping his window, alerting him to join them. He was seated on the couch, comforting a distraught Anne, and hearing the clomping of an impatient Sonny pacing back and forth in a wide living room. The fireplace flashing orange lights on Anne like if it were flashing a warning. The object of the assembly was due to Anne's report of a man following her that night after leaving Miss Cunningham's meeting for the women voters. When she exited the doors, she felt a second pair of eyes watching her as she crossed Chatham Square. It was only when she heard an echo of footsteps hitting the cobblestoned road that she turned back. It was the silhouette of a lean, and slender man, possibly a couple of yards away from her.
The lamplight shone a deep orange, almost red, color. "With every step forward, and this is while I kept my gaze at him, he took one as well." She jumped when, at the fall of a weeping moss, the man picked up his pace.
Anne relayed to the boys that she knew of him a week prior to the incident. Though, he never dared to sprint at her like he did this night. Thankfully, Sonny's home was in reach. When the screams of her throat begging for help began, the man dodged into the shadows of the alleyways.
Sonny began talks of "manhunting." This made Anne ever more so upset. "Now Sonny, let's not get Anne worked up." Thomas, of the three, was just as much of a pacifist as Anne. Sonny stopped his pacing and tilted his head to Thomas. "Tommy boy now don't sit there and pretend everything is all Jake. This is Anne's safety I'm talking about." Anne clutched onto Thomas tighter. Thomas swallowed a tense gulp, knowing well that Sonny was impossible to sway. He then went on about the newcomers from Tybee, and how he kept urging his father to pull some strings in getting them folks outta' here.
It was Anne's choice to have Thomas walk her back home. The timeless hooting of the owl orchestrated their late-night walk. Thomas laughed as Anne kept darting her head in paranoia that the strange man was following her. "How dare you!" She playfully pushed him. "As if you wouldn't do the same, Tommy." His cheeks and ears flared knowing she was right.
"Now Anne you know a boy like me is tuff'enuff to protect you," he said. Anne rolled her eyes to the side, and smirked like a fool.
They crossed the Monterey square, where the Pulaski monument stood tall, and the time capsule's burial was recently dug in front of it. They walked past it, Thomas remembers, but not without Anne's observation. "Such a strange way to commemorate a man," Anne starts. "Come on, Anne. It's a soldier's grave," Thomas argued. The two stopped walking. Anne stood, with her neck perched up, eyeing Thomas. The way her body stood under the lamplight, Thomas thought, was as though an angel appeared to him in auburn light. To Anne's vision, Thomas was nothing but a black space and two piercing eyes, blurred and concentrated on her. It almost sent chills rapidly tapping down her skin, because Thomas matched perfectly to the silhouette of the man who stalked her just a few moments ago.
"There are many soldiers buried in our dirt, where the horses stomp and keepin' 'em awake. Why make this one so special? Now if you ask me, I wouldn't dare permit anybody have me tower all the good people once I die. Now I say never!"
Thomas studied her, and said "but you will never die." He said this with a genuine smile, for genuine sweetness was his intention. Though Anne, under the fainting glow of the winking lamp above her, narrowed her eyebrows in confusion.
A silence swept between them. To avoid strange confrontation, or any question for that matter, Anne offered a slight chuckle. The two kept walking, until they reached Anne's home. "Sleep tight, now." He said. With some strange confidence, he pecked her cheek with a thrilled force. This forced Anne to let out a yelp. She rubbed her cheek, with the certainty that a bruise will form shortly. "Well, buh-bye now honey." Thomas watched as she faded inside the halls of her home, with an itching urge to open and follow her in. Alas, he held himself back and skipped gleefully into the night.
A few days later came the state fair. The revelers were among the crowd, picking apart the cotton candy as live entertainment and carnies reveled about. A bright, sunny, and cloudless day with a waft of popcorn and southern food domed over Savannah. Folks gathered around the booth where their photograph was taken, and later implanted on a letter to then donate to the time capsule. Anne thought it'd be a marvel to contribute. Thomas recalls her emerald dress, with the skirt dancing with every brush of the wind. She also wore a strange brooch, that when asked, she just batted her eyelash as "nothing," as if it were a mere wardrobe choice. It was a dazzling dagger, pointing east, rather than downwards. Thomas squinted his eyes as the blade pointing at him reflected the sun, and threw the light into his sight.
It was their turn now. Thomas entered first and followed the photographer's guide to sit at the end of a bench. There was a large white backdrop behind them, with cutout words spelling out 'GEORGIA PEACHES.' Anne was seated between Sonny and Thomas, and the three equally felt the limit of the small chair. The man behind the camera box lifted up his hand with three fingers, indicating their three chances. He took one without warning. The trio chuckled as they wonder how dumbfounded they must've looked. The second one was taken as their grins were still stretched, snickering from the first photo.
Thomas blacked out the third photo.
Thomas couldn't piece together the events that followed that day. He opened his wrinkly fogged eyes, and saw that the digging crew were four feet into the digging. The crowd still awaiting the capsule.
A distant cry cut through to Thomas' senses. His heartbeat raced as he looked around the Square. It wasn't until he realized that the sound was orchestrated by his recollection of Anne's shrill cry that he was put back into the still space of his memory.
All Thomas could remember was that he was standing afar from a crowd that started to disperse. For some odd reason he distanced himself from his friends. He just recently bought a popcorn bag, too, but later dropped it as soon as the gasping crowd opened him up to a bleeding Anne. She was putting pressure on her neck. She yelled about a stranger in the crowd attacking her when she couldn't see. Her arm was aligned with a stream of blood. Sonny was calling out every man in the area to "catch that son of a bitch!"
Once Sonny caught the eyes of Thomas, he ran towards him with a speed of a bullet. Pushed Thomas to the ground and began to yell. He asked Thomas where the hell he's been. Thomas, with his hands raised, and a shaky voice couldn't make out an explanation. All Thomas remembers that moment was the face of a weeping Anne. Her mouth was wide open in agony, and her eyes were squeezed shut from pain. Women came near her, but she shoo'd them off. Her neck was revealed. It was a ghastly deep wound. Children were yelling away, and men were following Sonny with makeshift weapons, forming a mob. As Thomas watched Anne, he realized that her brooch was missing.
Anne didn't go home that night. She spent two nights in recovery. After being discharged from the hospital (by her own hand), she awaited her men to pick her up on the steps of the church. The only one that arrived, however, was Thomas. He stood at the step with a bouquet of flowers, and his best tie. Anne offered a somber smile and ran down to embrace him. The two walked about the squares. Thomas remembers stopping in front of Pulaski, which was dirt ridden because of the time capsule.
The night was quiet, and the streetlamps glowed that same light as the fireplace did on Anne. She was a timeless beauty incomparable to anything this town might've put in that iron box. Anne walked over to the capsule, and shared a relief that it was the last night for it. She overheard Sonny talking about the town sealing, and burying it by dawn.
Thomas didn't answer. He just focused his sight on Anne, whose back was turned to him. She just stayed focus on the dug up hole. "Tommy," Anne starts, "what'll we do with ourselves when we're older?"
Thomas struggled to find the words. Instead, he felt this strange surge bolt up inside him. This uncomfortable, alien feeling. He slowly found himself reaching into his pocket, and a pointed item pricked his fingertip.
Then, the sound of metal clashed by a shovel penetrated his memory, and back to the present. The young crowd of 1987 Savannah roared with celebration. The digging crew shortly brought up the large iron case, stained by the black dirt.
The Time Capsule.
Thomas froze, and muffled out the speech by a frantic Mayor Forge. The Press, with their anchormen and cameras, began rolling. "Alrighty now! Let's get-to-gettin'!" Forge rubbed his hands together, like a child ready for supper.
The Capsule was unlocked. Cameras began to flash white, and the cheering doubled in volume. So much so, Thomas winced in sensitivity. Mayor Forge began to display every item.
"Don't let this marvel fool ya' for the folks at home," Forge started at the camera, as he wiped sweat off his forehead, "odor's like egg-stinkin' owl shit!" He laughed, and so did all of Savannah. Thomas, however, stayed focused on what was to be emerged. "Phew-wee! Look what we got here!"
He held up three printed photos. Thomas froze. "I think I know the poor feller on the end!" Forge squints to the crowd and sees a clammy Thomas. "Tommy, you ol' skunk, ain't this you!" Suddenly, all the heads were turned to Thomas. Forge explains to the newscast that Thomas is the oldest living person in the town, staying through the doomed economy. The crowd applauded and Thomas was giving a gentle wave. "Tommy get your ass on'up 'ere!"
Feeling the pressure, Thomas followed. Forge instructed the camera man to catch Thomas' reaction to "everything" and to pass him a microphone. Forge then passed over the photos to Thomas. With one shaky hand, he held his youth. An assistant came over and held a microphone to the old man. "Do some time traveling for us, huh Tom?" Asked Forge. Thomas couldn't say no.
"Explain to us these photos, who are these people and where are they now?"
Thomas couldn't find the words. He just studied the photos. The first one, he remembers it being the dumb one. He explained to the crowd that the man taking these photos only had so little time per group. Thomas saw his friends. The look of innocence, and youth. Seeing Anne once again was warranted to bring out tears. The crowd, of course, awed. Thomas gave a giggle with the second photo. The authentic spirit of his fellow 'revelers.' Anne's face, gosh, did it revive that little boy crush he had. Before getting to the third photo, Forge asked Thomas about his friends. Thomas explained that Sonny and him drifted apart because of Anne, which caused a commotion of "oohs" and laughter. Though, he did explain that the Blakely's departed from Savannah after the Depression, and that was the last time he'd see Sonny.
As for Anne, Thomas couldn't explain. "We still keep in touch," he says. "These photos would sure bring her back!" Thomas joked.
Then, the third photo was shown. It was Sonny grabbing Anne's face, and pulling her in for a smooch. Her face surely flustered. Thomas was shown staring at them, jaw was clenched. Eyes focused and stroked by the paint of envy. It was that familiar rage that ignited within Thomas again. That same force of violence that conjured within him 65 years ago. The rage that could send a man to murder.
Forge looked curiously at Thomas. "Gosh Tommy! Haven't aged a day it seems!" The town responded in yet another wave of
laughter.
Thomas couldn't speak. His eyes darted back to the time capsule and scanned through the letters, and photographs. These soiled peaches, he thought. He crouched down, and roamed through the pile of familiarity. That was, until his finger was pricked. Under the pile, Thomas found a small, bedazzled dagger. The blade, dyed in a dried red substance. He looked around, and saw a crowd waiting for an explanation. He looked about, and felt mocked by the weeping moss that hung over him like shame. The Pulaski monument towering over him, with the lady on top gawking at him for what only she knows. His only instinct was to disappear. To escape this Square of judgement.
Thomas, to the best of his ability, stumbled all the way to his house. With every limp and hurried step, the disembodied cries of Sonny were heard in his head. Accusations and questions about Anne were all he heard. The promise of getting Thomas for this! Thomas tried blocking the voice out by remembering Anne. Remembering her beauty, the touch of her skin, the way she held him tightly that night. Oh, how he wished she held him tightly right now!
Breathless, and heaving, he locked away the world from him as he arrived back into his secluded home. The tapping of the cane, and the creaking of the wooden floors followed him up the stairs. Flies buzzing at his ears, and some brushing his lips. Arriving to his room, he turned on the lamp on the nightstand.
The orange glow shone a light on a now dusted rotten corpse. The white curled hair laid on the aging brown skull, where two moths perched gently on top of the grotesque forehead. The corpse, with bones piercing through petrified skin, laid heavenly on top of the bed in a pink polka-dotted nightgown. On the other side, the blanket was undone.
Thomas leaned over, and laid a kiss on the skeletal cheek. He planted the dagger on top of the nightgown. "Found it for you, Anne." Thomas whispered. "Sleep tight." He turned off the light, and rested back to his bedspace.