In Her Eyes (24 page)

She turned to go back to the porch, forgetting about the boxes of her father’s stuff she had stacked behind the couch.

As she moved, she stubbed her toe on the corner of one box and knocked over another that was next to it.

"Shoot," she said to herself as she reached down towards her foot.

When she stood, she realized that half the contents from the box she’d hit had spilled out across the floor. She knelt, starting to put them back in the box labeled "Dad’s Stuff."  Most of the contents were old journals or notes her father had made while drafting his books, and it didn’t take her long to toss everything back where it belonged. But, one object had slid about ten feet across the room.

It was a small wooden container that looked to be about the size of a cigar box. There was a metal clasp on the front that held it shut and two hinges on the back that split it in two perfect halves. Nothing about the container looked familiar. In fact, Katie was pretty sure she had never seen it before. 

A shiver ran through her body and tears formed in her eyes as she unclasped the lock and opened it. Sitting on top was a small cross—actually, just two sticks tied together with twine. But underneath that cross was a photo of her mother. It was a small faded portrait, maybe two inches by three inches. The corners of the picture had started to peel away and the glossy surface was beginning to crack.

She had seen this picture before, but not for a very long time. Not since she had finished her first novel.

Katie put the photo back down next to the cross and lifted out a gold-plated pocket watch with the name Price inscribed on the back. She didn’t have to close her eyes to perfectly recall her father incessantly checking the watch and stuffing it back in his tweed jacket whenever he was stuck in his writing.

Below the watch, however, was an object she was sure she had not seen before. 

Katie turned the folded piece of paper over in her hand. It wasn't normal lined paper. It had a familiar feel to it, except for the small bulge in the center. One side was taped to prevent it from unfolding. She used her thumbnail to gently peel back the tape.

As she opened it, she realized why it seemed familiar, though she was certain she had never seen this specific one. It was a map of the United States. 

Katie pushed aside several boxes and cleared an area large enough to lay out the entire map flat on her wood floor. There were several pin-sized holes scattered across the surface. In the lower right corner, just above the legend, she found a dart held down by another piece of tape.

She removed the dart and set it aside, revealing several words written in cursive below it.

The ink was slightly faded, but she could still make out each word. 

There are stories all around you if you only take the time to look.

Love always,

Katherine

Katie felt her body tremble again as tears streamed slowly down her cheeks and onto the map. She quickly ran her hands under her eyes, wiping away the tears, and tried to blot out the wet spots on the paper with the hem of her shirt.

Her mother must have given this to her father before she was even born. 

For a moment, Katie just stared at the beautiful handwritten words from her mother. Her eyes traced the sweeping arc of each letter as it ran into the next. She repeated the words again in her head, but her emotions clouded their specific meaning.

Her thoughts trailed off as her gaze returned to the silver dart lying next to her. The tip was sharp and the body was rough as she ran her hand over it towards the three blue fins at the other end. 

Then, it all dawned on her.

Katie quickly grabbed the map and trotted to the kitchen, ignoring the pain in her stubbed toe. Opening a drawer, she grabbed a roll of scotch tape and walked out to her porch.

She turned to face the house, looking for a section of the wall large enough to hang the map. There was just enough room between two of the back windows. She taped the four corners, pressing the paper as close to the wall as possible. 

She took several steps back with the dart in her right hand, imagining her father doing something similar all those years ago. But as she looked back at the map, something seemed wrong. She could make out the name of each state and in many cases some of the cities that were printed in larger letters. Walking back over, she ran her hand across several places where she saw holes. Instead of feeling a smooth surface, she felt the punctured paper pressing out towards her. The dart couldn’t have been thrown at the map facing this direction.

She set the dart on the handrail and removed the tape she had just placed on each of the corners. Then, she turned it over so the blank side faced her and again ran her fingers over the myriad of pin holes. Smooth.

Standing back at the edge of her porch, all she could see was a plain white piece of paper taped to her wall. Still, she could aim towards the center of the map and hit Missouri, Nebraska, or Kansas. Or for the corners and land on Florida, Georgia, New York, Maine, Washington, California, and so on. So, she picked up the dart and turned her back to the map. Counting to three, she spun back around and let the dart go without hesitation. It wasn't a perfect throw, but it stuck solidly to the wall with a thud.

She pulled the dart from the wall, careful to reach around to the front of the map with one hand and mark the spot as she turned it over and set it on the porch floor. The small hole was in the dead center of a city she had never heard of in South Carolina. 

The first drop of afternoon showers landed on the steps a few feet from her. Looking out again into the vastness of the deep blue rolling waves, Katie couldn't help but feel excitement at the simple thought of one word.

Bishopville.

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About the Author

Wesley Banks was born and raised in Bradenton, Florida. He graduated from the University of Florida with a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree in Civil Engineering. After spending over 7 years building movable bridges from Florida to Washington he decided to focus on his true passion: writing.

Wesley recently moved to Oregon to get back to the great outdoors that he loves so much. He lives with his wife Lindsey, and his two dogs Linkin and Story. Most of his time these days is spent writing, with as much rock climbing, hiking, or skiing as he can fit in.

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