Body Memories (by sean)

we are at the renn faire on a sunday. he needs to replace a broken necklace. medallions on display hang from a dowel by ropes of slender cordage.

a man turns the wooden handle, and a large wooden and metal press is lifted by the cranking motion. it makes a clacking sound. a coin rests in the round depression of the stamping block.

"Stri--KING!" the man calls out. a bell clangs once, twice, three times. the stamping press is released and it falls heavily on the medallion. I startle. my body remembers the sound. "well struck, m'lord," the women recite. he flips the coin and repeats the process.

"Stri--KING!" the man bellows out again, a warning for bystanders to be mindful of their position. I am acutely aware of mine. I root myself and close my eyes but still I flinch. a man in red velvet walks by to praise the craftsmanship. it is not the heavy fall of the press but the strike man's warning that has me nearly yelping. the man holding my hand laughs delightedly.

"well struck, sir," the velvet man's voice streams through my consciousness, linking together the past and the present. a woman places a necklace in my hand. one side bears a star, the other a labyrinth.