Jeweled History: A Creative Writing Series - The Golden Bowl, The Frontlines (Chapter 1)
There are thousands of bloggers and authors out there writing about jewelry - era, history, fashion, "dos" and "don'ts," designer interviews, award show recaps and the like. Although I will continue to write about those topics in my own way as well; I wanted to bring back a series that brought me an inordinate amount of creative joy. So, if you've followed me through the years now, you have (hopefully) come across my Creative Writing series from 2018 in which I took a single piece of antique or vintage jewelry that had come across my desk and fabricated a fictional - and yet historically accurate - story around it. I'm bringing the series back for 2023 and taking it to the "next level" in the form of a longer, serialized novel version. Follow along to keep up on the main character's adventures! And, I hope you fall in love with her (and the jewelry) as much as I have!
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| Gold & Lapis Bowl looted from the National Museum of Iraq during Operation Desert Storm. |
Chapter 1: The Frontlines
The average person would think that as a newsperson
reporting from the frontlines; the reporter themselves either 1) enjoys being
the center of attention, 2) is an adrenaline junkie or 3) has a death
wish. In EJ’s case, none were true. Call it luck; right place / right time or
even fate. Looking back on her 40+ year
life history now; she’d have said it was just another in a series flukes that
had led her to this very moment in life.
EJ ended up on the frontlines in Afghanistan as a teenager shortly after
the cease fire went into effect after Operation Desert Storm.
To some, EJ’s mother would have seemed like a flake. Or eccentric at the least. But one thing she could never be called was
boring or predictable. Sarah Jules Anne
was, in fact, anything but. Harvard
educated, with multiple business degrees and the fortune to have been born with
a charismatic personality, she was the type of person who could convince anyone
of anything – and often did. Her
charisma and classically stunning good looks helped Sarah get in front of the
right investors early in her entrepreneurial career. After selling several of her start-ups, she
was still looking for “the next big thing;” never satisfied. It was that constant sense of searching that
more times than not spilled into her personal life as well.
She would often throw caution to the wind only to uproot EJ
from school thereby causing her grandmother an inordinate amount of stress and
anxiety to fly off to some far-flung locale in search of……something. She would tell EJ
with a bright smile and cheeks turned rosy from excitement, “You can never
learn as much in school as you can through an honest-to-God adventure.”
Thinking back, EJ smiled as she grabbed her dirty, brown
canvas messenger bag and slipped it over her head. Desert sand boots laced and ready to go, she
grabbed her roller bag and headed downstairs to the waiting town car outside
her small, studio apartment to take her to Washington Reagan National Airport.
If the cricks in her neck were any indication of just how
long the flight was, EJ would have thought the distance was more than the 7,000
flight miles. Looking out the window as
the plane began its descent into Dubai, a flood of memories came rushing back. EJ closed her eyes as the plane made its
final approach. As she steadied her
breathing waiting for the near-constant ear popping to cease, EJ remembered her
first visit to Dubai. The sense of
dread; the feeling of running away but with no apparent end goal in mind; even
the fear hit at full force. She took a
deep breath and let her emotions settle.
It was those memories after all that had helped get her here.
On a mission to find another lover that was cleverly (or not
so cleverly) disguised as a “learning opportunity” for EJ, her mother had
packed them up for a 4,500 mile road trip / adventure from Kabul to Dubai
telling her there was “no better teacher than the sights, sounds and smells of
a city.” The truth of the matter was Sarah
was chasing down a man – again. Her mom’s
latest obsession was an Army Staff Sergeant she’d met through a deployed
service member pen pal program during Operation Desert Storm and Desert Shield. EJ chuckled to herself thinking back to those
early days. Driving aimlessly through
the various cities and outposts trying to find Staff Sergeant Adam
Richter.
“We just had an instant connection, you know?” her mom would
say with a far-off look in her eyes and a smile as the car bounced along some
desert road. At the time, EJ thought it
was so romantic, as any teenage girl
would. But as the days turned into
months and her mother’s frustration at not being able to find the man who was
her latest “soulmate” mounted; EJ would find herself wandering the streets in
whatever town they were currently stopped in before hitting the road again to whatever
the next location her mom felt might be Richter’s latest assignment.
“It wasn’t all bad,” EJ mused to herself as the plane
touched down in Dubai. “Mom was right
about adventure being the best teacher.”
As a teenager in Kabul, EJ had taken to wandering through
some of the historical landmarks like the Babur Garden, the National Museum or
the City Center. But her favorite place
then had always been the Chihilsitoon Garden.
It was located only a few miles from Babur Garden in the foothills of
the Sher Darwaza Mountain. The history
of the area had fascinated EJ when she was there. Its orchard had served as a Mughal outpost
below a hillside settlement along the Kabul River in the 16th Century
and until the 1980s, the Chihilsitoon Palace had remained a hub for government
activity or as a state guesthouse for visiting dignitaries.
As she grabbed her bag to disembark, EJ muttered, “Damn
Palace.”
Holding a tablet with her name brightly displayed was a
gentleman in a crisp linen suit over a white button down. Brown loafers and a straw-colored fedora that
allowed just a hint of his dark, black-peppered hair to peek through completed
his look. Making her way over, EJ smiled
brightly.
“I didn’t expect you to come pick me up!” She exclaimed as she pulled him in for a deep
hug. “I would have grabbed a cab to the
hotel. There’s no reason to pull you
away from what I am sure has been a very exciting day for you.” EJ winked.
The man laughed, “I wouldn’t have missed this for the
world.”
Adam Richter was one of the many men who had come into EJ’s
life over the years. Each brought their
own unique perspectives and life experiences with them. Honestly, none stuck around for any true
measure of time worth noting. Some so
fleeting in their presence that EJ didn’t even remember their names. But Adam was different. He may have broken her mother’s heart but
he’d saved EJ’s life….and introduced her to a career that would become the
stepping stone to something she never could have even imagined as that scared
little teen girl who’d snuck onto an Army base to give him a what-for.
“That all you got?” Adam asked as he grabbed her roller bag.
“You know me,” she smiled, “I like to pack light in case I
need a quick get-away.”
“Why? Are you planning on going someplace you don’t belong
that would require immediate exfil by an Ops Team?” The look Adam gave EJ out of his peripheral
vision and the one raised eyebrow said it all.
With a heavy sigh, EJ replied, “I’m not planning anything. I’m just
here to hand over the artifacts; do the grip-and-grin thing; take a few photos
and get back to D.C. as quickly as possible.”
“You know, Red, one of these days it might do you some good to
plan something,” Adam offered. “You
can’t ignore a whole country just because of one incident. The director at the Aga Khan Trust has been
asking me when you’re going to be in country.
He says they’d like to do a little something for you after that business
all those years ago.”
“I know Adam. He
keeps leaving me voicemails. What I can’t
figure out is how he got my number?”
EJ’s sour look says it all.
“I gave it to him,” Adam states. No malice, no concern, no hurt – just a
fact. “Try returning them. Your safety will be guaranteed. No one is going to arrest you. Or kill you.”
“Very funny. I’m not
taking any chances. I can find plenty of
work outside of Afghanistan,” EJ snaps.
“Let it go.”
“For now,” Adam concedes.
“But don’t think this discussion is over.”
“With you? How could
I,” EJ says as Adam loads her roller bag into the backseat of his Hummer. He chuckles as he climbs in the driver’s seat
and buckles his seatbelt. EJ snaps hers
and settles into the sun warmed leather seats as the car comes to life. Lulled by the road noise, she’s asleep before
she even realizes it.
Adam glances at the sleeping girl in the seat beside him and
shakes his head. She’s a woman now,
capable of making her own decisions and choices. It’s been twenty years since he first met
that little girl with the thick auburn curls made even more red in the desert
light. She’d come into his life kicking
and screaming with a mouth and attitude as loud and bright as the hair on her
very head. He still remembered the first
time he saw her in the car with her mother as they were tearing away from the
base - backwards. The anger in her eyes
could have melted steel. He’d had no
idea that several hours later she’d be standing in front of him kicking and
screaming calling him all sorts of names for the hurt she thought he’d caused
her mother. The MP attempting to detain
her for sneaking onto the base had his hands full. He had her by the scruff in one hand his
other arm wrapped around her midsection attempting to keep her from kicking
either of them.
“Should have known then what a handful she’d be,” Adam laughed to himself.
Adam hadn’t lied to her mother. He’d just neglected to share the full
story. He was married – to his brother’s widow, Stephanie. While he had joined up and gotten deployed
overseas, his twin brother, Elliott, had married his high school
sweetheart. They were expecting their
first child together – a boy. His
brother worked at the local lumber mill.
One night on his way home, Elliott was hit head-on by a drunk driver. He died before the paramedics arrived. After the funeral, Adam had learned that
Stephanie would no longer have health insurance through the mill and with a
baby due in just over a month…It made sense.
He married her so she and the baby would have health insurance through
the Army. Adam had always looked at it
like he was taking care of his family.
Obviously, it was only a marriage on paper but Sarah never gave him the
chance to explain. And EJ, well, she was
her mother’s daughter. It wasn’t until years
later when she was in a jam and he was her only option that she even gave him
the opportunity.
Her hair, and her mouth, have toned down over the years but
her attitude is just as fiery as it always was.
Most people thought he called her “Red” because of her hair. Nope, it was all because of the fire in
her. Most the time, she was calm and
reserved. If you didn’t know her, you might
even say she was quiet. But Adam knew
the storm that roiled just below the surface.
Ready to explode any time EJ’s will, patience or sense of right and
wrong were tested past their limits. She
was a spitfire, that one. Just like her
mom - in more ways than she’d cared to admit.
“We’re here, Sleeping Beauty,” Adam chuckled. “Let’s get you checked in so you can get a
proper night’s sleep before you become the media darling that you are.”
EJ groaned before rolling in the seat, head propped against
the window. “Just leave me here. Tell them I missed my flight but to carry on
without me. It wouldn’t be the first
time I’ve slept in a car.”
“Not a chance,” Adam replied as he climbed out and fetched
her roller bag before walking to the passenger side and opening the door. EJ all but fell out of the car had it not
been for the seatbelt keeping her strapped to the seat. Adam reached over her and clicked the buckle
before offering his hand and helping her climb out of the Hummer. EJ’s messenger bag was still slung across her
shoulder as she padded along next to Adam into the lobby of the Burj Al Arab
Jumeirah Hotel.
“Swanky,” Adam whistled as he nudge EJ with his elbow.
“I can’t believe anyone actually says ‘swanky’ still,” she
laughed. Adam may have only been her
senior by 20 or so years but sometimes he seemed to have come from a generation
three decades earlier.
Before the ribbing could continue, the hotel manager came
forward signaling to one of the bellhops to take EJ’s luggage. Adam turned over her roller bag but EJ held
firm to the messenger bag.
“Welcome to the Burj Al Arab, Ms. Anne” the manager
said. “We’ve been expecting you. I am Malik Noor Al Zeera, the hotel
manager. Your room is ready for
you. I understand it’s been a long
flight and I’m sure you would like to get some rest before tomorrow’s
festivities. Amir will show you to room.
Should you need anything during your stay, please do not hesitate to
contact me directly or your floor valet.”
EJ took the man’s card and thanked him for the hospitality
before turning to Adam.
“I’ll be here to pick you up in the morning at 0800 for
breakfast before we head over to the Saruq Al Hadid Archeology Museum,” Adam
said before pulling her in for another hug.
“Don’t be late. And get some
rest. You look like Hell.”
EJ smiled, “Yes Sir!
I’ll do my best to look like one of those exotic Arabian supermodels you
seem to enjoy so much.”
Adam chuckles as he walks off, hand waving behind him, “With
that hair and those eyes, not a chance Red.
Not a chance.” He’s gone before
EJ can offer a retort of her own.
“Lead the way, Amir,” EJ turns to look at the young bellhop. He jumps to, turning on his heals towards the
elevator. He uses a key card to call the
elevator and holds the doors open for EJ.
Once in, she leans against the back wall and sighs.
“Are you alright, Miss?” Amir asks.
“Yes, just tired,” EJ responds. The elevator doors open and Amir leads the
way down the hallway to a large set of double doors. He swipes the key card again before opening
the doors.
Once inside, Amir hands her the card and says, “Ma’am, if
you’d like?” as he gestures towards the suite.
He brings her bag inside and gives her a brief tour of the suite,
depositing her bag at the foot of the bed.
“Room service is open until 2am should you like a bite to
eat, the menu is available in the kitchen.
The maids will be in around 10am tomorrow morning and your floor valet’s
contact information can be found next to the phones in the bedroom and living
areas,” Amir says. “Is there anything
else you require?”
“No Amir, thank you,” EJ replies as she hands him a 20 dirham
note. The smile that spreads across his
face says it all as he quickly leaves before EJ can think better of the tip.
EJ walks to the windows and sighs. Taking the messenger bag off her shoulders,
she deposits it in the nearest chair.
It’s evening in the desert.
Staring into the dark horizon, peppered by the occasional lights of a passing
ship; EJ couldn’t help but smile when she thought of something her Grandmother
used to always say, “Nothing good happens after dark.”
“Not recently, Grandma. Not recently,” EJ chuckled and
headed towards the bedroom for what she hoped would be a scalding shower and a
well-earned sleep.
Once in the shower, EJ let the hot water rinse the travel
grit off her skin and help her ease back into herself. The steady thrum of the water hitting the tile
and the way the steam wrapped around allowed her mind to wander. It drifted to the time when her mother was on
the hunt for Adam through what felt like most of the Middle East. The day-long drives from the streets of Kabul
through Islamabad in Pakistan then through the vast, sandy Iranian desert
before taking a ferry across the Gulf of Oman to Dubai. Of course, with EJ’s mother, it was never as
simple as a straight shot. No, it was a series
of circles; zig-zagging across three countries and stopping to quiz any
American Service Member they happened to spot trying to find the elusive Adam
Richter. EJ remembered how what had felt
like a grand, romantic adventure in her teenage mind quickly became a
months-long attempt at managing her mother’s emotional stability. Each military base they stopped at, Sarah
would become increasingly convinced that this was “The One” she would find him
at. He’d be told she was at the gate and
coming running to her; their love sealed.
Each time, she’d be crushed. No
service member by that name is assigned here, “You really should take your
daughter and go home” seemed to play on repeat.
Sarah would become more erratic and depressed as time and frustration
took its toll.
At her heart, EJ’s mother was a hopeless romantic. Too many Disney daydreams. Then the scene played out differently at a
random stop at one lone military outpost on the Afghani side of the border
between Iran and Pakistan. They pulled
up to the gate arm in their dust covered beater when a rather imposing U.S.
Army Private approached the driver’s side.
For what felt like the thousandth time, EJ listened as her mother
recounted the story of her soulmate and how she had traveled here from New York
to find him. With the utmost patience,
the Private listened and then asked for his name. Sarah gave it, her eyes seemed filled with
hope. EJ listened, head down in the
passenger seating waiting for that fateful phrase that never came.
“Oh Wow! You must be
Mrs. Richter! Sarge talks about you and
the baby all the time,” the Private
responded, “Let me call him on the radio and have him come meet you!” EJ looked at her mother, watching as the
tears welled in her eyes and all her hopes were crushed as the Private walked
away, radio in hand.
The water continued to cascade down EJ’s shoulders and back,
a deep sigh escaping her. The movie of
her first Middle Eastern adventure still playing in her head. The memory of a handsome Staff Sergeant
jogging toward their car, a huge smile on his face that was quickly replaced by
one of shock and confusion as his eyes darted from the Private to the car then to
EJ with her bright red curls. Sarah
sitting frozen behind the steering wheel sobbing. As he approached the car, EJ’s mother put it
in reverse and squealed (as much as one could in the desert, anyway) backwards
down the dirt road narrowly missing the line of cars waiting their turn for
entry. Not more than a few kilometers
away, they stopped in a small village and paid for a room for the night. The words still ringing in her ears even
after all these years, “Use the man up before he uses you up!” Sarah had
proclaimed as she cried herself to sleep that night.
Fury and a sense of protection ignited in EJ listening to
her mother’s sobs. Once the sobs were over
and her breathing even, EJ snuck a peek to see that her mother had finally
fallen asleep. And, as every rash
teenager in her position would do (or so she thought at the time), she snuck
out of the room determined to give that Adam Richter fellow a piece of her mind
for how he’d lied and broken her mother’s heart.
EJ silently shook her head before turning off the shower and
reaching for one of the towels on the warmer.
“I really was a hothead,” she thought to herself. “It’s a wonder I survived those years.” She’d long ago forgiven her mother for
dragging her all over the world with no rhyme or reason. She’d even forgiven her the endless and
rotating series of “father-figures” that had been introduced into her
life. After all, several of them had
become her only lifelong friends.
EJ pulled an oversized shirt out of her bag and slipped it
on. Climbing into bed, she let a deep,
dreamless sleep finally take her.
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