"No, not the face. Not the voice. It's the lifting by which you remember a man."
I used to never truly been fond of history. It’s often boring and trite. Why do we have to learn of the pasts of some dead presidents? Why did it matter if we knew about a small-scale war? It didn’t help that my dad was an enthusiastic collector of old weapons. All they did was collect dust. They held no significance to me, and they wouldn’t exactly work well as defenses if someone broke in.
I remember one weapon in particular. A silver rapier my dad had up in the dining room. A leather sheathe hid the blade, but the hilt can be seen in all its glory. My dad told me time and time again that the rapier was from 1823. He was always specific of the date, can’t just say 1800’s for whatever silly reason. He also told me that the rapier was from France.
Funny, I thought the French weren’t the fighting kind.
My dad never really told me much beyond those little factoids. I guess he respected the fact that I’m not as thrilled with history as he is. In a way, I was sort of glad about that. But at least once a month, I always end up having to hear at least some history lecture, though it does fall on deaf ears.
I guess the moment I truly regretted ignoring the lessons was the day an earthquake struck the city. My city often gets hit with the minor tremors. The highest we ever got was a magnitude of six back in ‘66. This was merely half that and for the most part, it just jostled any high hanging objects. Fortunately, it didn’t knock any expensive vases down, but what it did knock was the rapier.
It was so hung up high on the wall that this was the first time I saw it in close detail. In spite of it being held in a glass case for almost a century, it had definitely seen better days. The metal looked very dull, having lost most of its shine. The leather's color had a mixture of light leather brown and a rusted orange. What would have been shimmering paint on the foil now peeled off, leaving only a discolored gold seal on the grip. The seal was one bar overlapped on another, much like a plus sign. I decided to get a hold of it and try to bring it back to where it was…
It was so hung up high on the wall that this was the first time I saw it in close detail. In spite of it being held in a glass case for almost a century, it had definitely seen better days. The metal looked very dull, having lost most of its shine. The leather's color had a mixture of light leather brown and a rusted orange. What would have been shimmering paint on the foil now peeled off, leaving only a discolored gold seal on the grip. The seal was one bar overlapped on another, much like a plus sign. I decided to get a hold of it and try to bring it back to where it was…
But as my hand jostled around the grip, I heard a weird clicking sound. As I heard that, everything around me quickly turned into a snowy white as I heard a huge rush of what I could best sum up as artificial water crashing into me. I closed my eyes and plugged my ears as the sound overtook me.
“Are you in need of rest as well? You’ve seem to have fell…”
Suddenly, I heard someone serenading me. I immediately opened my eyes and felt the cold around me. I was wearing nothing but my shirt and shorts when I got the rapier, so when my exposed skin touched the snow, I immediately jumped up.
“Yes! Yes I would like a room! I don’t wish for the snow to be my tomb!” I looked to a bishop who was offering me his hand. I then looked back to what I had said… Or rather sang. I covered my mouth and then tried to speak. “Aaaaaaahhhh…” I gave out a vocalized note before I shut my mouth with my hands.
“What seems to be the problem, young man?” He asked me. He seemed to be singing too.
“Can’t you see that we’re singing? Do you not hear this insidious ringing?” I had to admit, I had a pretty nice singing voice.
“You are simply delirious. Come in, there’s food and water to spare and shelter to keep you warm…”
“Thanks but I have to get home…” I looked around. I was nowhere near my home. I wasn’t even in my living room. I was out in the cold by a church. “How far did I roam?”
“Come in, the weather’s quite serious! There’s plenty of warmth to share!” The Bishop was right. I sighed and complied, heading inside his church to brave the cold snowstorm.
Turns out I wasn’t the only one the old man took in. Parallel to me in the dining room was what appeared to be a homeless guy shovelling the food in his mouth. While I had some lunch prior to landing in this church, I looked at the porridge and thought about it. This might be my last meal for a while, and while I felt like I should criticize my fellow guest’s table manners, the man does have a point in eating like no tomorrow. I took a spoon and ate the porridge, not too fast like the guest, but not too slow either. Just the right pace for me to both enjoy the porridge and feel full by the time I’m done.
“Bless the food we eat today.” The Bishop said to us. My family was not supremely God-fearing, but we did follow basic traditions of religion. Grace was one of them as I did my prayer before eating the porridge. As I did, the Bishop looked over to my direction. “This rapier you have… Why do you possess it? Are you a guard?” As soon as the Bishop said that, the man in front of me stopped eating and focused on me.
“N-no… I just happened to hold it…” I replied. The man resumed to his eating while the Bishop got up.
“No worries… I don’t mean to pry. I just wish to know why… Why a man would hold such a weapon?” He said before leaving. By that point, the man had finished his food and so would I a few minutes later. I presumed that I would be sleeping somewhere tonight so I followed the Bishop where he would present to me a bed. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was enough to get me to rest for the while.
Though, I only got a few hours of sleep before I heard a ruckus. I stirred awake as I saw a shadow pass me. Dazed, I stumbled out of bed and took the rapier. By the time I steadied myself, I ended up seeing the homeless man from before carrying a bag of silverware. Before I could say anything, the man looked at me. As he did, I felt my body go cold.
This man…
This man is robbing the Bishop…
And I’m a witness!
We both ready ourselves. Me holding the rapier and him holding a plate. My body trembled as I recalled my father teaching me what to do in case a robber ever went into our house and what to expect.
I bit my lips and I knew full well…
It’s him or me, our lives will never be the same.
I took out the rapier, its blade having a shine that the hilt sorely lacked. As I held it, my hand shook.
I took out the rapier, its blade having a shine that the hilt sorely lacked. As I held it, my hand shook.
We clashed. I may have the more potentially lethal weapon, but his was defensive. The rapier stabbed into the plate. My loose grip on the rapier proved to be a fatal mistake as the handle forcibly pried my hand open and caused the rapier to fall to the floor. Seeing me with no weapon, my assailant took advantage and swung the plate over my head.
CLANG!
I awoke when it was morning in my bed. My head hurt slightly, but not enough for me to consider it painful. Why did the thief bother to put me back to my bed? I figured my fate would be sealed the moment I lost my weapon…
Speaking of, I noticed the weapon lying by my feet. I guess the thief didn’t want to carry a weapon in case he ran into some police. It makes sense, if you tot a weapon, you’re expected to receive lethal force and telling from how much silverware he was looting, he more or less wanted to retire.
But I assume a lot out of a thief. It took me a while to ponder over whether or not I should tell the Bishop that I saw him taking the silverware. Would he believe me? Would I crush his spirit by telling him that he became the farmer to his viper?
It didn’t take long for me to ponder my next action as I heard the pained grunts of someone. I ran to the source of the talking and saw some guards holding the thief, all while one of them held the bag of stolen silverware. I gave a brief moment to sigh in relief as I saw the Bishop confronting him.
“My friend, you left so early, surely something slipped your mind…” Confusion set my mind as he walked over to two silver candlesticks, picked them up, and…
Handed it over to the thief?! One of the guards looked directly at me as I realized I was being watched. The Bishop merely turned his head, smiled to me, and then turned his attention back to the thief.
“Release him, this man has spoken true.” He told them. I could tell in the guards’ blank stares that this came out of left field for them as it did for me. For a moment, I was ready to call the Bishop out, but that’s when he spoke up some more. “You must use this precious silver to become an honest man…” That next moment convinced me what the Bishop intended to do with the thief. I merely backed away as the thief got up, looked to me, and then proceeded to walk away with the silver.
“You might ask me why I set him free, but you see, God has a plan for him.” He sang as he walked to me, patted me on the back, and led me to a different part of the room. “Just as he had for you…” At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about. He led me into the bedchamber where I rested and picked up the rapier. “Do you see this symbol?” He showed me the plus sign on the rapier. “The other night, I had a dream of a man with this sign. The light from it, it truly shined. You, young man, are the holder, and thus, this burden you shall shoulder…” He walked over to a cupboard and opened it up. When I saw what he took out, I leaped back to the wall as my heart pounded.
Mostly because I didn’t expect a Bishop to be packing heat. While the gun was mostly wooden with discolored gold plating on it, the same discolored gold as the sign on the rapier as I later noted, I recognized it as a gun. It was held in a leather holster, though it had a rather woolly brown coat that was the tell-tale sign that this was made from a bison. The Bishop held the gun not by the handle, but by the side. He showed me the metallic plate. On it, right in between what appeared to be its hammer and strike plate was a silver stainless steel dash. It was a simple, short dash, almost akin to a minus symbol if comparing it to the rapier’s plus.
“Our lord works in mysterious ways. I held this gun for you to appraise.” The Bishop said.
“Where did you get this from?” I asked him.
“A man who refused to tell me his name. But I knew he was filled with regret. I do not know what fate holds in store, nor do I know if it’s already been set. All I know though is that this gun was meant for you… Now grab it, and pray you come through!” I took the gun from his hands with such force that I almost cocked it.
“Come through what?” I looked at it as he also handed me the rapier. As I took it with my other hand, my thumb brushed through the minus on the gun. Again, I heard the click, heard the waves, and saw the white vision. But there was something new.
A putrid smell. But I didn’t immediately chalk it up to a side effect of the gun, rather, I realized it was coming from the pile of trash that became my new bed. The sound of seagulls cawed as I struggled to get off the trash, its stench clinging onto me like no tomorrow. I only began to think of going home and taking a bath.
Though, as I looked around, I noticed I wasn’t anywhere in the church. In fact, I was out in an open town by a port. Something tipped me off a while back when I saw that the guards had black coats on instead of the usual blue uniforms or even the church looking somewhat old-fashioned and yet feeling like it was brand new. However, I easily brushed it off.
Here? Not so much. The buildings around me were too old looking for me to recognize. The houses and buildings weren’t made of concrete like I was adjusted to, but of wood and brick. Now, if it was one or two buildings, this would be fine, but it was a whole town full of buildings like these. I knew where I lived was a concrete jungle. This was not a concrete jungle.
My breath became short. I looked around, trying to find the Bishop, but to no avail. People looked to me and raised eyebrows. That’s when I noticed the outfits. They weren’t… They weren’t t-shirts and pants like most people would wear, but rather some sort of renaissance style outfits with frilly cloths sticking out of the collar. These I knew were not clothes that any normal, sane person would wear.
I noticed something that gave me the brief semblance of familiarity. While I wasn’t old enough to enter one, I knew what a bar looked like. I marched in and saw that the bar did not look like any normal bar. It had the same feel, wooden flooring, a bar stand with a bartender, and people drinking drinks, but it didn’t feel like a bar, rather some sort of pub.
“TO THE REVOLUTION!”
I heard a trio of rowdy men shout as they held up their drinks. At first, I thought nothing of it. Just some dumb young adults drunkenly slurring nonsense. I instead approached the bartender.
“Excuse me, sir.” I noticed my voice. It was no longer singing. Rather, I was speaking normally. “I was wondering if you can answer my pondering…” I stopped upon noticing something wasn’t right with the way I was speaking. I waited a few moments before I spoke up again. “You see, sir, I got myself lost, so, I figured I could ask you, sir…” I heard a beating that wasn’t my heart. As if that wasn’t odd enough, my voice spoke along with the beats, as if I were timing at which point to drop a rhyme. In a way, it felt as though I was rapping to someone’s beatbox. I began to stammer while the bartender just glared at me.
“Revolution’s imminent, what do you stall for?” I heard one of the men seemingly ask me that question. It only made me tense up even more. It didn’t help that the beatboxing began again, as if asking me to respond to him. Before I turned around to answer him, someone else spoke and completely stopped the pulsing sound.
“If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?” I turned around to see a man with a small circle beard, his brown hair tied back in a ponytail as he wore a golden colored jacket. Thankfully, he wasn’t asking me, but rather a dark-skinned bald man with a bluish gray coat. Although he wasn’t looking at me, I felt as though he had calmed me down specifically. Or at least took the heat as the three guys start to ask him questions. I sighed in relief as I turned to the bartender.
“So what’ll it be?” He asked me.
“Where the hell am I, for one.” I asked back, my voice beginning to time and adjust to a new beat.
“Why you’re in New York City, don’tcha know?” He said. New York? I looked around. The area did not feel like New York to me. If anything, it felt more like a ridiculously retro bar. Well, at least I know where I am now. My mouth began to feel dry, though.
“Ah, I see. I’m looking for some water, please.” I told him. He took out a flask and began to pour out some.
“That’ll be four bucks, baby, you want fries with that?” He told me. I took out a ten from my pocket and left it on the table. “The hell is this?” He asked me.
“You haven’t seen a ten dollar before?” I asked him.
“This is fake!” He shouted at me.
“Give me a break!” I shouted back. I then groaned and flexed the bill around, showing him the watermark of a political figure. He just looked at me like I was crazy. It didn’t help that the guy behind me began to rap about how awesome he was. So I turned around. “Hey, guys, this guy thinks this bill is crap, so could you stop with your rap and tell this man this isn’t scrap?” I told the group. One of the guys, a tanned-skinned man with curly black hair wrapped in a ponytail wearing a blue jacket, took the bill, then looked at the portrait.
“Yo, dude, check it!” He told his friends to look at the bill. At first I had no idea what was going on, but then the guy boasting about his shot or whatever looked at it himself.
“Damn, son, this looks like me!” He said.
“Whaaaaaaat?” I said
“See, I’m already famous enough to have my own bank note! Now, I shouldn’t dote, but this gives me a lot to gloat, so let me scream it from the top of my throat…” He then proceeded to continually rap about his shot again. I began to blink at the total and utter weirdness of the choreographed rapping. Eventually, he stopped, if only to realize that he was getting overexcited.
“Let’s get this guy in front of a crowd!” The curly haired man said as they all began to sing and marched out of the bar. I sat down, mouth agape.
“What the fu-”
“Ignore them.” A man seated parallel to me said. The dark skinned man who was asked what he’d fall for.
“So… I’m guessing you’re Mr. Burr, sir?” I asked.
“That I am. So what brings you to New York?” He asked.
“Well… It’s kinda weird, mind’s kinda geared, like I disappeared…” My mouth still spat out rhymes, even if inappropriate for a conversation.
“Slow down, I get ya, times are getting rough, times are getting tough, but there’s a time where you have to say you had enough.” He said.
“But I don’t know how to-” The man placed his finger on my lips.
“Talk less…” I silenced myself. “Smile more.” As he said that, my lips began to fold upwards. I felt a little calmer now.
“Thank you, Mr. Burr, sir.” I said.
“No problem.” He said.
“So… what’s going on with those guys?” I asked.
“Oh, they’re just yammering on about that Revolution.”
“That doesn’t give me a lot of resolution.”
“You mean you haven’t heard? The colonies are on their knees, getting ready to rise up.” Burr said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow, it’s hard to swallow…” I said.
“I understand. Personally, I’m kinda worried.” He leaned in and whispered. “I’m with the idea, but there’s so much happening. You want to know the difference between a Revolution and a Rebellion?” I decided to nod. “The difference is in who lives, who dies, and who tells your story. We win? It’s a Revolution, they win? It’s a Rebellion. I don’t want to be on the wrong side if they lose. So I’m just gonna wait for it. You should do the same too.” He said.
“…Your words kinda ring hollow, and I think I need to wallow.” I stood up. “Thanks by the way. I’ll try to talk less…”
“And smile more.” Burr said to me. I began to stumble away. Dehydration was getting to me and I needed a drink fast, unfortunately, the money I have isn’t viable. By this point, I’ve begun to piece together a good idea where I was. I wasn’t a big history aficionado, but we did learn about the Revolutionary War in school.
Something that I felt that I was now a part of.
