by Amy Neftzger
“I need something now. Right now!” he screamed. “In half an hour, I’ll be speaking at her funeral, and I need a good memory to talk about. Everybody loves food, but my mother was a terrible cook. So I need a good memory of my mother’s cooking. Now! Or I won’t know what to say about her!” He was sweating all over his black suit and tapping the counter in an agitated manner.
“Yes, of course,” the shopkeeper replied patiently as she fluttered her newly secured eyelashes. “I understand completely.” She showed him over to the section on family memories. He finally settled for one large memory of a holiday meal rather than several smaller memories of specific foods.
“He should have gone with the multiple chicken soup memories,” the woman sighed after the man had left. “Everybody loves chicken soup. So healing. The eulogy would have been a masterpiece.” She abruptly turned back to Kelsey. “So what can I help you with, darling?”
“What are these?” Kelsey inquired as she pointed to the shelf in front of her.
“Bad memories. We don’t sell many of those.”
“But what are they?” Kelsey persisted.
“Unpleasant things that most people want to forget. Failure. Embarrassment. Death of a loved one. All kinds.”
“I can understand why someone would want to sell them,” Kelsey said, “but who would want to buy them?”
“People who want to be better and do great things,” the woman stated simply. “You see, these memories build character.” Kelsey noticed that as the woman spoke in a more serious and less artificial tone, her makeup not only settled on her face, but also became more natural looking. The colors diminished in intensity, and the hard lines softened.
“So, let’s suppose, for example, that I wanted to accomplish something miraculous. Then I might need some bad memories to get there?” Kelsey felt the hope inside her leaping forward at the very thought that the answer could be this easy.
“All great roads are paved with uncomfortable memories. You can’t gain something large without sacrifice, and losing something is unpleasant. It hurts.” The shopkeeper’s face now appeared kind. Kelsey rapidly looked at all the bottles in front of her and then gently took the biggest one into her hands. She gagged at the smell of composting manure coming from the jar.
“I don’t think you really want that,” the shopkeeper said in a motherly tone.
“I do,” Kelsey insisted. “I really, really do. I think it will be good for me.” Kelsey carried the jar across the shop and placed it down gently in front of the cash register. The woman hesitated as she surveyed Kelsey’s earnest expression.
“All right, then,” she spoke in a resigned tone. “But listen to me very carefully.”
“I’m listening,” Kelsey said eagerly.
“Do not use this all at once. You must build up your tolerance as well as the tolerance of those all around you. A few bad memories, well placed, will build character, but overuse can be deadly.” She locked eyes with Kelsey to make sure that she understood before continuing. “When you apply the memory, open the jar and dab a very small drop behind your ears and on both of your wrists. Bad memories have a very strong fragrance, and a little goes a long way. Putting too much of this on your skin will drive people away. If you take too much at once, you scould also faint or become suicidal. Scores of people have died from too many bad memories. Worse than that, some people die inside but then still go on living like emotional zombies.”
“I will be very responsible,” Kelsey assured the woman.
“Promise me you will pace yourself.”
“I promise.”
Kelsey paid for the memory and headed for the door. She felt elated over her new purchase as she placed her hand on the doorknob and turned it to leave the shop. The warm feeling of optimism gave her an impression of floating or gliding. However, as soon as she stepped through the doorway and onto the cobblestones outside the shop, she tripped.
The jar shattered when she dropped it and bad memories washed over the sidewalk in front of her. The vapors began eerily drifting in every direction like little fingers of doom searching for a victim. Kelsey wanted to run away, but she couldn’t. Her legs were paralyzed. The weight of despair overcame her, and she could barely move. It felt as if the effort to run away would be too much for her, even if she did feel embarrassed by the situation. She also noticed that the less she moved the more she wanted to die. Death was like a warm blanket to her and she just needed to cuddle up inside of it. She was ready to pull the blanket over her head when a sudden jolt sent her flying into a pile of pepper melons. Kelsey shook her head to clear her thoughts as she wiped sticky fragments of spicy pepper melon from her face and hair. The jolt had cleared her thoughts of the desire for death, but it had also left her disoriented and feeling bruised. As she wondered why she had been thinking so much about dying just a few moments ago, she noticed the boy with the honey-colored eyes who had been following her.
He was the one who shoved her into the melon stand.
Chapter Three
Manufacturing Miracles
The lab was brightly lit and clean. In fact, it appeared to be cleaner than the kitchen, but then, miracles were more important than food at the orphanage.
Nicholas stood next to a large black marble work table with Maggie and Jovan as they waited for Taro. Nicholas glanced at the large clock hanging on the stone wall next to the only window in the room. It was almost 9:00, and Mr. Portnoy had been working all night to finish their lab coats with pockets. He didn’t quite make the 7:30 deadline that Taro had given him, but he had come close. The white coats were perfectly sewn, just as everything that Mr. Portnoy had made for them in the past had been. Even if the work wasn’t on time, it was done well.
Nicholas and his friends were excited about being in the lab, but also a little nervous. They made small talk about simple things like the different flavors of porridge served for breakfast and how well their lab coats fit them. Other children were already busy at their stations, either working or playing with the equipment. The differences between work and play are difficult to detect when you’re not yet trained in how to make miracles. Nicholas tried to see what the other groups were doing, but they were careful to screen their efforts.
“I wonder what they’ll teach us first,” said Nicholas.
“I just want to make as many miracles as possible,” Maggie replied. “I want to make so many that they have to build another garden to hold them all.”
“I really want to see how they’re made,” Jovan said. “I want to know how it’s done and all about them. Does it happen suddenly or does it take time? Is there a noise? If there is, what does it sound like? Will we see or smell anything interesting? Is it a fast or slow process?”
“Slow down with the interrogation,” Nicholas laughed, “We’ll know soon enough, I’m sure.”
Just then Taro entered the room with a rather tall woman who looked like a daisy. She was extremely thin and wearing a green sweater dress that resembled a flower stem. Her short blonde hair came out in all directions like flower petals. Her dark rimmed glasses were oblong and shaped like two seed pods stuck together at the tips.
“Children,” Taro addressed them as a group, “this is the lab supervisor, Ms. White.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, children,” she replied coldly. She certainly didn’t sound like a flower.
“Please treat her with respect and do whatever she says,” Taro said. “I will leave you in her care and check on you at dinner this evening to see how you’re doing.” He paused for a moment, and Nicholas thought that perhaps Taro was going to wish them luck, but that would be inappropriate. Miracles take more than luck. Maybe Taro was thinking the same thing. After briefly looking into each of the children’s eyes, he turned and walked swiftly out of the room with his head down, as if in thought. Having the right words when you need them, Nicholas thought as he watched Taro leave, was something of a miracle in itself.
“It’s very simple,” Ms. W
hite explained, “We have all the supplies you could possibly need in the storerooms along the south corridor and in the cabinets along the walls here inside the lab. Just do your best.”
“Do our best at what?” Maggie asked with a bewildered look.
“Making miracles,” she replied curtly.
“Aren’t you going to tell us how?”
“Miracles can’t be taught. If they could, we would have billions of new ones every day,” Ms. White explained. “No, you just have to figure it out on your own.” She quickly walked away and closed herself in an office with no windows. The children stared at the slickly painted blue door for a moment and then looked at one another.
“She didn’t even ask our names,” Maggie remarked.
“Am I the only one who thinks this sounds crazy?” Jovan asked.
“No, you’re not the only one. It’s definitely ridiculous,” Nicholas replied.
“How are we supposed to make a miracle?” Maggie asked in a worried tone. “I can’t even make pancakes!”
“Well, we’ve got to do something,” Nicholas responded. “So we might as well start trying things. She mentioned the supplies. Let’s see what we have to work with, and then maybe we can get a few ideas. After all, they’ve been making miracles here for decades, so there must be a way.”
“They’ve been making miracles, but we don’t know if they came from a lab or somewhere else,” Jovan reasoned. “Two weeks ago they had us mining in caves for miracles, and before that, we were trying to catch them with nets. Every time they give us a new job, no one tells us how to do it correctly. The truth is that we live in the place of miracles, and we don’t know anything about them.” His voice had become more agitated as he spoke.
“That’s not true,” Maggie insisted. Her dark, cropped hair bobbed as she shook her head from side to side. “We do know something about miracles. We know that they don’t happen on Mondays.”
Nicholas thought about this carefully. He’d heard this since he arrived at the orphanage and assumed that it had always been true, but now he wondered if there had been a time when miracles did happen on Mondays. Either way, there was a connection, and it was possible that this link could help them discover enough about miracles to make one. They just needed to find out more about it. It wasn’t a recipe they could follow, but it was something.
“Are Mondays really that different?” Nicholas thought aloud. “You’d think Mondays would be like any other day of the week, except for the name.”
“Maybe,” Jovan said with a spark in his voice as he caught onto the idea, “there’s something about the nature of Mondays that keeps miracles from happening. If we can figure that out, then we have a clue on how to make them. So what is it that makes Mondays different?”
“Maybe miracles just don’t like Mondays. They both start with the same letter,” Maggie suggested. “So does my name and I don’t like Mondays.”
“Why don’t you like them?” Nicholas asked.
“Because there are no miracles on Mondays,” she explained with a shrug. Nicholas glanced awkwardly at Jovan. Sometimes Maggie appeared very intelligent, and at other times, her reasoning was questionable. This was one of those other times.
“There must be more to the connection than the first letter in the words,” Jovan concluded, “because these words start with different letters in other languages. So we need to figure out the real connection, and that information could help us.”
They stared at one another silently and wished the answer was obvious. But it wasn’t. Several minutes passed in silence while they looked around the room at the other children working. All of them were huddled about their tables and trying to hide their efforts, but as far as Nicholas could see, none of the others seemed to know what they were doing. One group had even resorted to mixing baking soda and vinegar in order to watch the chemical reaction foaming up over the edges of a beaker. The mess was difficult to conceal, and Nicholas saw the children jump away from the growing foam puddle on the table as it oozed and dripped to the floor.
“Do not mix baking soda and vinegar,” Ms. White shouted from behind her closed door. Everyone could hear the irritation in her voice. “Read the lab rulebook. It specifically states that you should not mix substances for amusement. Please stop wasting resources and focus your efforts.” As the groups turned back to their huddles, Nicholas realized that everyone else was just as clueless as they were, and no one in authority was helping anyone.
“Perhaps we should go to the library and do some research on Mondays,” Jovan suggested. “Or on the substance of miracles. Someone must know what makes them.”
“Are we allowed to leave the lab? Or do we have to go during lunch?” Nicholas asked. “I don’t want to break any rules or get into trouble.”
“How should I know what the rules are? No one is watching us, and we haven’t been given any instructions. So I think we should do what we think will be helpful,” Maggie added with an encouraging smile. She wasn’t intimidated by the unusual freedom they were being given in the lab. She seemed to like it. Nicholas, on the other hand, was worried that the lack of instruction was some sort of test.
“Ms. White just mentioned the lab rulebook. Let’s take a look at it,” Jovan suggested. Maggie pulled the book down from the shelf and flipped it open to the table of contents.
“I don’t know why they put all these rules down here,” Maggie said as she turned the pages. “Half the kids don’t even know how to read.”
“What?” Nicholas asked in surprise. “Why can’t they read?”
“They came to the orphanage before they had any schooling,” Jovan explained. “So you either learn to read before you get here, or you find someone and ask them to teach you. That’s what I did. But the nice thing about the whole situation is that the library is never crowded.”
“That seems absurd,” Nicholas exclaimed.
“Absurd and yet true,” Maggie assured him. “Oh, here’s something on lab hours. It says that the lab is open from 7:30 a.m. until 7:30 p.m. That doesn’t help us.” Jovan took the book from Maggie and began flipping through it.
“This book is mostly rules for safety and cleanliness,” Jovan said as he looked at the different topics. “It says what not to do, like don’t burn things without proper ventilation and don’t use the lab to roast wild game. It doesn’t say whether or not we can use the lab time to go other places.” He continued browsing through the pages until he found more information on lab hours. “It’s funny that they don’t tell us what time to start or finish working. It says ‘Do not start work before 7:30 a.m. or later than 9:00 a.m.’”
“Looks like we just made it on time, then,” Nicholas laughed.
“Maybe we should ask permission,” Maggie suggested as she glanced at the closed blue door at the back of the room.
“I don’t think she wants to be disturbed. I think that the less we irritate Ms. White, the better off we’ll be,” Jovan replied.
“Then we should just go,” Maggie decided with conviction.
“No,” Nicholas disagreed. “We should certainly go to the library, but not during our working hours. Ms. White knew that they were playing at the next table. It’s like she saw through the walls or something. She could be watching us, and if we leave, she might think we’re slacking off. I don’t want to lose the lab assignment.” He glanced around the room and then offered another suggestion. “Let’s explore the supplies they’ve given us and see if those provide any clues.”
“Nicholas is right,” said Jovan. “We can go to the library later. In the meantime, if we can see what they’ve given us to work with it might give us a clue on how to make a miracle. The ingredients must be here, after all. If they want us to make miracles, surely they’ve provided the materials we need to do that.”
“You two never want to take risks,” Maggie complained. “You’re kind of boring that way.”
“You call it boring, but I call it staying alive,” Jovan replied in a matter-of-f
act tone. Maggie rolled her eyes.
“In that case, let’s start with the red cabinets along the wall,” she suggested as she pushed up the sleeves on her lab coat. “At least they’re an exciting color.”
It took them nearly the entire day to examine the cabinets because they were full of little compartments. However, the contents were well organized and clearly labeled. In one cabinet, there were several rows of drawers containing metals that had been ground into a fine powder. In other cabinets, there were shelves of what appeared to be potion-making supplies with names that Nicholas had never seen before.
“What is ‘ocular rhapsidon’?” he asked Jovan as they peered into a box of shriveled things that looked like a pack of ancient raisins.
“A rhapsidon is a mythological creature,” Jovan answered. “And I’m pretty sure that ‘ocular’ means eye.”
“So it’s an eye from a mythological creature? That sounds impossible!”
“Or,” Maggie interrupted in a thoughtful tone, “it’s an eye that allows you to see a rhapsidon. Some people believe that they’re more than mythological, that they live in the enchanted forest.”
“Real or mythological, I’m not touching it,” Nicholas replied.
“I like this cabinet,” Maggie announced as she looked over all the odd names and creepy looking things.
“You would,” Jovan sighed as he closed the door.
“It’s very cool. It has a magical feel to it,” she insisted.
“Magic and miracles are not the same thing,” said Jovan. “I’m not sure how any of these things will help.
“Well, let’s not rule anything out,” Nicholas chimed in. “It is an entire storeroom of supplies. There must be thousands of potion ingredients.”
“One of the storage rooms also contained baking supplies,” Jovan replied. “I don’t see how any of that could be of use, either.”
“You’re right,” Maggie nodded in agreement. “None of this stuff appears useful. We really don’t know of anything that could be of use because we don’t know how to make a miracle. But I believe that it will all make sense one day. Then we’ll know what we need.”
