Jazz Age

It started with the old antique telephone from the 1920s.

"Yes, it works," My grandmother said, setting it on the table. "You can use it to call your mother if you like. I'll hook it up later."

I gazed at it in excitement, taking the ear-piece and putting it to my ear, whispering orders for Chinese food into the receiver while rolling the number dials. It was beaten up, its star-spangled banner pattern fading and revealing the material underneath. But it was still wonderful, it still stood in its stateliness a fading charm.

My grandmother's apartment smelled funny. This was among one of the first times I saw her after we left for a bigger house, and I slept over the weekend. Along her dresser she had old perfume bottles, long faux pearl necklaces, a small porcelain doll of baby Jesus, lace and a jewelry box. On the walls old photos of herself and her late husband, my pianist grandfather. Her fading books of spirituality and the occult were on her bedside table, relics of gods along a shelf. And it was all fading, the flicker of her youth, in her possessions and in her face and movements. She still fades today, with less fire in her gut and softer voice.

It was there that my interest in the Jazz Age sparked. My grandmother had a fondness for it as well, keeping her special low waisted dress and loud shawl. I dressed up frequently in them, loud clown-like lipstick on my cheeks and lips and looking at myself in the mirror. It was grand, and when I was fifteen I would be like those pretty ladies with the short hair and straight skirts. When I was older my interest in them shifted mostly because I could hide my curves and breasts in such clothing. I was terribly overweight and self-conscious about my body, and wore baggy things in particular. My only gripe was that it would involve skirts, and I detested them with a passion. I let it go and started wearing them later.

It was the phone, her belongings and Houdini - oh, Houdini! His spectacles entranced me, and so did his dealings with the occult. My grandmother spoke to me of esotericism in great detail, speaking of vast dissipating deserts and becoming one with the universe, the salvation of Christ and archangels. Spirits and hauntings, the prophecies of Nostradamus - it all meshed and intertwined together, leaving undone threads of memories collecting into a spindle to weave out my recollections.