Jessie and her chums were on their way back to Newark from the championship game in Dayton. Her Bulldogs had won, spirits were high and the crowd was singing some of the songs of the day. "Smile Awhile," Long Long Trail of Winding," "Moonlight Bay," were just a few that they sang. Jessie had forgotten the dark cloud by now, the excitement of the game, the cheers of the crowd, the outstanding play of her Bulldogs, and Coach Harmon had let Jessie come down and sit on the team bench for a part of the third quarter so she could be nearer the game.
Jessie's enthusiasm was noticed by the players on the field, and this seemed to be contagious because they finished the game with a come from behind victory ... that started when Jessie took her seat by Coach Harmon on the bench. It was a glorious victory.
The revelers dropped her off at her Hudson Avenue home, not knowing of the disaster that had taken place hours ago. She went inside, took her heavy clothing off, gave their Chihuahua some water, and started looking for Jim. "He should have been home by now," she told the disinterested dog. The quiet after her statement was broken by a knock at the door. Could it be Jim, having forgotten his key. She sauntered to the door and opened it expecting to get a big hug from her returning husband.
But instead, there were two somber faced policemen. Newark policemen, both ashen colored, with somewhat dazed looks on their faces. They didn't know where to start. How do you tell a woman, that her husband is dead, that he was scolded to death, by the very furnace that he worked on for so many years .... His furnace, His boiler.
Jim’s Funeral
The next few days were a blur for Jess, the arrangements, the shock, her world turned upside down, she was still in a daze, but still able to make all the necessary arrangements. The funeral home on Fifth street made the arrangements for her and assisted her through her ordeal. The viewing, the condolences, the faces, the handshakes, Jessie managed to get through it all.
The trip to the cemetery, graveside service, and the ride back to the funeral home. Jessie wanted them to take all of the flowers and distribute them at the local hospital, she wanted nothing more to do with them, no more remembrances right now, she just wanted it to be all over.
She finally left the funeral home on Fifth street, and started walking East. Suddenly, she realized that she was at the Fourth street entrance to the Arcade. She hesitated, and finally opened the door. She stood a moment, and glanced down the long expanse of corridor, a corridor she had walked so many times, but now, somehow seemed so empty.
She started walking, slowly, past the beauty shop, the real estate office, the flower shop, but she paid no attention to them, she kept her eyes looking forward, down the long corridor. As she was about to the end, at the Fifth Street Entrance, a noise in Kresge’s caught her attention.
She looked to her right, her eyes staring into the full length mirror, on the wall, outside of Kresge’s Five and Dime. As she looked in the mirror, a shocked look came over her face, there, in the Kresge’s mirror, was the image of Jim, her beloved Jim. She stared at his face, it was so vivid to her. She moved closer to the mirror, hesitated, then extended her arm toward the mirror. As her hand drew closer, the image of Jim’s hand drew closer. Jim and Jessie’s hands touched, in the mirror, and a smile came over her face.
At that instant, she knew, that Jim would always be in his beloved Arcade, and a warm feeling of relief came over her, she and Jim would never be too far apart.
If you are ever in the Arcade, in Newark, Ohio, that mirror is still there, and if you glance into the mirror, you may see an image, a hand, a face, the face of Jim. I now know who has brushed my hand, and whose image I have often seen, in the windows, and the mirrors, of the Arcade.
THE END
Note: I had the restaurant in the Arcade for a while. I often felt that I was not alone. I have seen images in windows, images in mirrors. The Kresge mirror is till there. If you move back halfway in the hallway and look into the mirror, you may see an image, I have. I am not a writer, but something gave me the idea to write this. We used our Daily Fax to publish the story. I wrote this while we had the restaurant, and it was written at a table in the restaurant. I would sit down at the same table, same chair, right at three o'clock, and my fingers moved around the keyboard, the words seemed to be put there, by someone, or something. The language and terms used are from another time. I can't explain it, perhaps Jim could ................................
