A Photo Lost in Time

With a heavy heart I walk into my grandmother’s house. She has just gone into care, and her big, beautiful house needs to be sold. I have had some of the best times of my life in this big house. It is the family house that we all gravitated too. I can still hear the laughter and fun echoing off the walls. My brother is coming to give a hand today, in readiness for him arriving I walk from room to room and pull a plan together so that we can make the most of the time we have today.

Room by room I wander in deafening silence, except for the ever-present fridge noise. Reminiscing, misty eyed, looking at all of her lovely things. I know every inch of this house, every piece of furniture, every photo, every knick-knack that adorns her shelves and cabinets. These pieces that link so perfectly together that have created a lifetime of beautiful memories for me.

I find myself standing in the doorway of her bedroom. I stand there for what seems like a very long time, its so hard to go into this room. Everything is perfect, neat a pin as she would always keep it. Her puffy floral frilly bedspread, her abundance of pillows and cushions. Her dressing table with her face creams and make up laid out like perfect soldiers, all very neat and in place. My eyes glance across to her duchess where she keeps her most prized trinkets mostly given to her from us as kids. Things we purchased for her from the Mother’s Day markets at school – things that worthless but were priceless to her. I know every single thing in this room and each thing unlocks a beautiful memory from times gone by. I lean on the door jamb and afford a minute or 2 to rewind back to some of those memories and play them like a movie in my mind. Sad and happy at the same time.

The photos of all of her family kept on her bedside tables, her children in black and white and her grandchildren in bold colour. Her brother that she lost kept closest to her bed, he went missing and was never found. She missed him terribly and was always hopeful that he would come knocking on her door again one day. I stare at this photo, a young strapping man smiling back at me, the mystery of my great uncle.

It’s then that I notice it. A small wooden box. It’s alien to me in this room that I know so well. It’s dark wood with brass hinges and an intricate brass lock. It’s behind the photo of my uncle. I walk around the bed to the bedside table. Yes, I don’t know this box, I don’t think I have ever seen it before. I am drawn to it. It looks very old, the child in me is screaming – it’s a treasure chest!

Picking up the small box I hold it, it’s very light maybe its empty. I grapple with whether to open it. It might be personal and private considering I haven’t ever seen it before. Sitting on my grandmother’s bed, holding this box; inner turmoil. Do I open this box?

The curiosity gets the better of me, a big breath out and I flip open the little brass keeper on the front of the box and slowly open the lid.

Staring back at me is a photograph. A single old photograph.  I take it out and place the little box on the bed. I turn over the photo to see if there is anything written on it, there in my grandmothers handwriting is a year – 1956 –

Turning the photo back over I study the image. It is a photo of a gathering of some sort. It looks like a back yard, studying it further I think it is this house’s back yard, I can see part of the house in the photo, it looks to be the side of my grandmother’s house. The back yard has changed but the side of the house I recognise. I scan to the people in the photo, is there anyone here that I recognise? I see a young woman in the front of the photo, 2 older people in the back of the photo. A blurry image of a man with his back facing outwards, and 2 or 3 others in the background standing around a small table, I think this box is sitting on the table the people are standing around. It looks the same. Maybe it is.

It's then I start to feel a very odd sensation. My fingers are tingling, it quickly moves up my hands, arms and into my chest. This sensation quickly overtakes my whole body, and I feel myself slipping, slipping, dissolving. I drop the photo and like a feather it glides and falls on the floor, settling under the bed.

Sitting on the bed rests the small wooden box, and the ruffled bedspread where I was a moment ago sitting, and left is a silent house except for the noise of the fridge.

***

 “Get a blanket, get a pillow” I vaguely hear, takes me a moment to put the words together in my head. I feel the tingling feeling in my body subsiding, going from my body, down my arms into my hands and gone.

“Can you open your eyes?” a concerned voice asks me.

I feel the warmth of an old itchy wool blanket, like the one my grandmother used to have when we were kids, the ones with the satin borders.

Opening my eyes. I am lying on the ground on the grass with people I do not know surrounding me. Close my eyes. Dreaming. I must have fallen asleep on my grandmother’s bed.

“Can you hear me; can you open your eyes?” again the concerned voice.

Not dreaming, no, can’t be. I feel the blanket, I hear people, I feel the grass. Opening my eyes again, I am not believing what I am seeing. This is not my grandmother’s bedroom. I am outside, under a blanket, with people I don’t know surrounding me. Concerned people.

“Where am I?” I ask “Did I faint? How did I get outside?” I look around, I vaguely recognise this yard.

Trying to sit up and gather myself, a little embarrassed surrounded by people I don’t know. A man to my right puts his hand behind my back and takes my hand to help me into a seated position. I know his face; I’ve seen his face. I look to the other faces I see; I feel like I have seen these faces also. Then it hits me. They are dressed very differently to me. Their hairstyles are different, they look like they stepped out of a 1950’S  movie set. I grip this man’s hand tight, and I sit bolt upright now. Looking around to try and make sense of what is going on.  I am outside, in a backyard area, looks like a party of some sort by people and the food I see. The backyard is vaguely familiar to me I keep scanning, I see a small table over to my left and on the table is a small wooden box. I know this box; I just was holding it, and the photo.

I am in the photo. This is the photo I was just holding.

Explosion in my mind. Everything colliding all at once. Can’t be.

Wildly I look to the man to my left, yes, I know his face. He is older, but I know him.

“It’s ok, it’ ok,” he is saying, feeling my distress levels about to peak and tip over.

“Can’t be, can’t be”, I mumble and recite over and over as I am desperately trying to understand how this has happened.

Terror and disbelief is starting to creep into my muddled mind. I push the man away to my left and jump up to a standing position. He is in front of me now, hands up in a comforting motion trying to keep me at ease.

“It’s ok, let me help, I can explain” he says slowly and patiently.

I step backwards, scanning my surroundings, looking for a way to leave, its then that I see it. The house. My grandmother’s house. Her house, but not as I know it. Her backyard, yes, but not as I know it. These people; dressed, but not as I am. The furniture, old. A car in the driveway, old car vintage car, but new.

I can’t move, I am motionless and unbelieving, must be dreaming. Pinching myself like a crazy person, big red marks on my skin. No.. not dreaming.

The man is in front of me, the others have gone back to their party, music playing that is definitely old, I recognise it. My grandmother used to play it.

“What is happening” I plead. “This is not real” I say to myself and this man in front of me.

“It happened to me too” he says with a level of tension, looking straight into my eyes. “It happened to me too, a while ago now, but I know what is happening.

“o….k….” I say “Well what? Am I dead”? I whisper.

“No, you are not dead, let’s sit over on the porch, and I will explain what I know”, taking my hand he pulls me step by step until we reach my grandmother’s porch. Stiff and rigid, he seats me and hands me a glass of water. The glass is old, very old, I still recognise it. My grandmother has these glasses in her glass cabinet.

I look at this mans face, it can’t be. He is looking at me too and we just sit for a few seconds. He waits for me to become somewhat settled.

“I know you”, I say looking down to my glass of water. “But it can’t be.”

“My name is David Cotton” he says waiting for that information to register.

The shock came like a cannon, and I dropped the glass. Glass shattering like my mind on the timber porch.

My eyes dart up to his face. I already knew it, but hearing it from his mouth, cemented what I already knew. My grandmothers long lost brother. Right in front me, in the flesh. My mind is fractured.

Stumbling over my words, my whole body shaking “No, you went missing, you would be old now” I state to myself more than anything. “My grandmother waited for you her whole life; I can’t believe this!” I stutter.

“I am David”, he says reaching across and taking my hand. “I have been lost here since, god I don’t know how long now”

“Lost here, what do you mean? I say staring at him incredulous.

“Time has been lost to me, I don’t know how long I have been here in 1956, but it feels like a while. I didn’t go missing, I was transported back in time, and I haven’t been able to get back. I was in the garage going through some boxes for my parents. And I found a small wooden box. I opened up the box and in the box was a photo. I picked up the photo and the next thing I knew I was transported back to 1956 from 1975.” he looks over to the people that have continued on with their party, not a care in the world. “The young lady you see there with the floral dress blue gloves is Alice Cotton”, he looks back to my face to wait for my reaction.

“My grandmother?” I barely whisper my eyes popping out of my head.

Staring at this beautiful young woman before me. Smiling, happy in her young life, celebrating with her friends and family.

“The 2 older people behind her are our parents, John and Mary Cotton”

“Great grandparents” I say barely audible. I continue to stare at these people, my relatives in flesh and blood, right before my very eyes.

David continues talking, but I am not processing.

“Are you ok?” David asks and waits for a reply.

“No. Of course I’m not ok. A moment ago, I arrived at my grandmother’s house to clean it up for sale, and I found a box and a photo and next thing I know, I am… well….. here! With you who went missing before I was born, and you are right in front of me, and I am sitting on my grandmother’s porch, where she is young and having the time of her life at a party, oh and my great grandparents are here too. No definitely no ok.” I say in a slightly crazed tone.

“No, that was a silly question, I guess. So, I take it you are Alice’s granddaughter?”

“Yes, yes, I am Rachel Cotton.”

He smiles “Rachel Cotton, Rachel is our mother’s name. Nice to meet you Rachel.”

“So how do we go back to our own times? “Why did you not come home? My grandmother waited for you every day.”

“I couldn’t, I tried, I couldn’t get back.” Daivd ran his hand through his hair in anguish.

“Rachel, I have been stuck here, forever 36.”

“No… no,” I shake my head the reality of things falling into place

“All I know is”, David says trying to quieten the despair he can see creeping onto my face

“That the photo is significant. I lost the photo when I well transported, I left it in my own time, I think that’s the key. The photo from 1956 needs to come back to 1956 and be placed back in the box. That box that’s on the table over there.” He turns to look at me. His face hopeful

“Rachel, do you still have the photo?”

My blood runs cold, the photo… where is the photo, I search my pockets my shirt, I stand up, has it fallen on the ground. We run over to the woollen blanket still strewn on the ground, we heave it up expectantly waiting for this old black and white photo to come floating out and fall on the ground. No photo.

 I continue searching, maniacally searching. David stands stock still watching me, an overwhelming sadness penetrating him.

“Rachel” he pauses, I continue.

“Rachel, it’s not here” he says quietly

“It isn’t here, you must have left it in your time too”. He says quietly, sadly.

I stop searching head down.

I stand in the middle of a party not of my own time, with an uncle that went missing before I was born. Stuck here in 1956. Sobbing into my chest.

David walks over to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. We stand there, 2 people stranded in a time warp. We stand there until I become quiet, and my body stops shaking.

“What now” I say to David, while watching my relatives start to pack up from their party.

“We wait, we wait. Someone has got to find that photo and when they do, let’s pray they come with it so we can put it in the box and go home.”

“o…k…” I say..

Then I remember…

“Wait” I yell and spin to face him.

“My brother! My brother! He is coming to help me clean up our grandmother’s house today. And in a moment, I am hopeful.

“He will find it – the photo - it was on her bed”. I quite literally jump excitedly on the spot.

“You will go home today”, I say to David

***

“Hey Rachel, you here?” James yells through the house.

James arrived at his grandmother’s house finding his sisters car in the drive, the door open, but no Rachel. Weird, she must have gone to a neighbours maybe.

James walks through the house remembering the good times, and he comes to stop at the doorway of his grandmother’s room. On the bed is a small wooden box. That’s weird he says aloud. He walks in and picks up the box. He opens it, it’s empty. Looking around he sees nothing out of place. He picks up the box and continues out of the room and continues looking for his siter.

The photo of a family with 1956 written on the back. The photo that that had fallen from Rachels hands landing under the bed. The photo that James her brother did not see, signing the fate of David his Great Uncle, and Rachel his sister to not return to their current times from 1956.

What are the chances of 2 family members going missing years apart under the same mysterious circumstances.  

Unless of course someone else finds the photo, hidden from sight under the bed.