Jamais Vu

Cappuccino in hand, Suzanna stomped down the sidewalk, dreading the day ahead. She’d woken in a funk after suffering through bizarre dreams—finding snakes in her shoes, falling into a pit toilet at a campground, washing her hair with Nair instead of shampoo. These kinds of nightmares were normal for her when things were stressful at work. She’d spent the weekend mentally reviewing her mistakes from the week prior—she’d allowed a marketing pamphlet to go to print with a rather egregious grammatical error on the first page. They’d caught it before they were distributed, but it had still been costly. Re-printing 5,000 pamphlets wasn’t cheap.

It was Monday, and the team had already moved on. Suzanna hadn’t. 

She narrowly avoided a pile of unidentifiable sludge outside of a breakfast joint. Her nose wrinkled at the smell, and when she looked up, lights blinked from the windows of a shop. 

She stopped. Warm white bulbs peeked through the branches of a flocked Christmas tree. A model train chugged in a circle around the tree’s base. A welcoming glow emanated from the windows of the Christmas village arranged on some shelves. 

She breezed past the windows on her way to work every day. At some point, she must have noticed the tree adorned with vintage ornaments, the tinsel swooping across the front of the display shelves, and boxes wrapped in festive paper, but in the months she’d been walking this route, her mind had blocked it out. The Christmas lights hadn’t been on in the past, she was sure of that. Why today? It was mid-August, and a fat bead of sweat rolled down her spine and soaked into the waistband of her underwear. 

She checked her watch—twenty ‘til eight. The barista had been quick this morning, so Suzanna had a few minutes to spare, and Christmas was one of the few things that could cheer her up on a day like today. With her free hand, she pushed through the front door. 

She expected a blast of cool air conditioning, but the air hung humid and stagnant, like a damp bath towel draped around her shoulders. The window displays hid the majority of the shop from the street, and when she stepped past the partitions, she was drawn into a tall, deep room crammed with furniture, artwork, glassware, and books—volumes and volumes stacked haphazardly beneath tables, in open drawers, and on the seats of chairs. Every flat surface displayed smaller items like crystal ashtrays, cast iron pot holders, cigar boxes, and blue Mason jars. A dusty wood smell blanketed the room, much like the inside of Grandma’s cedar chest, which had only been opened on special occasions. 

Suzanna took a sip of her cappuccino and ran her finger along the curve of a wooden headboard with scalloped edges. Peering around the shop, she realized she was the only customer, and there didn’t appear to be any employees nearby, though the labyrinthian arrangement of merchandise made it impossible to know for sure if there was anyone else in the store. She turned her attention to a collection of Nancy Drew books, easily identifiable by their yellow covers. A shelf of the same mysteries lived in her bedroom, though her books were newer editions with glossy covers and crisp, white paper. She thumbed through The Mystery at Lilac Inn, running her fingers along the heavy typewriter font.

“Good morning.” 

Suzanna jumped and snapped the book shut. 

“Can I help you?” An older woman, likely around her mother’s age, stood a few feet away with her hands folded politely. Her pale blond hair was twisted into a small bun, and a pair of delicate silver-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. 

“Uhm.” Suzanna slid the book back onto the shelf with the others. “I have a few minutes to kill before work.”

“We don’t open until nine.” 

“Oh.” Suzanna glanced over her shoulder toward the front door. Sure enough, a sign with red letters spelling the word “Open” peered back at her. It hadn’t been turned around yet for the day. “I’m sorry. The door was unlocked, and I just sort of wandered in when I saw the lights on.” 

The woman’s thin eyebrows furrowed. “What lights?” 

Suzanna pointed toward the front. “The Christmas lights in the window.” 

Lips pressed together, the shopkeeper squinted at Suzanna through her spectacles. “Very well.” She wore a cardigan and full-length trousers, despite the heat. “Take a look around and call for me when you find what you’re looking for.” 

Suzanna nodded and turned back to the books. She wasn’t looking for anything—just browsing—but when she glanced back to where the shopkeeper had been standing, she was alone.

Directly ahead, a teak dining table with six matching chairs sat ready with dinner service for six—Blue Willow dinner, salad, and bread plates as well as cups and saucers. Each place setting had five pieces of silverware, polished to a mirror shine. The China was remarkably similar to what Suzanna had grown up eating off of on Sunday evenings at Grandma and Grandpa Jones’ house. Grandma was perhaps the only woman of her time who actually used her fine China. 

Suzanna set her paper coffee cup on the table and pulled out one of the chairs. It creaked as she sat. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

“Eat your peas, Suzanna Banana.” Grandpa’s deep, comforting voice spoke for the first time in ten years. He sat at the head of the table in a short-sleeved plaid shirt and a pair of suspenders—his regular uniform. 

Suzanna glanced at her plate. A half-eaten slice of meatloaf rested next to mashed potato residue and an entire helping of peas. The tiny spheres were a dull green and shriveled like fingers and toes after being in the bath for too long. She pushed the plate away and glanced around the room.

Suzanna was still in the antique store, but the plates, apart from the ones in front of her, Grandpa, and Grandma’s seat had disappeared. She must have fainted or tripped and hit her head. Or maybe this was another one of her stress dreams. 

The smell of meatloaf made its way to her nose, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed the fork from next to the plate and scooped a bit into her mouth. It was savory and comforting and very, very real. It brought her back to a simpler time. When her biggest worries were whether or not she’d pass her weekly spelling test and if she’d be able to keep her Tamagotchi alive for another day. 

“I don’t have to eat my peas because I’m an adult.” Grandpa wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and then returned it to his lap. His brown eyes rested on her, but not her face, a little lower. Her neck? She touched her throat where a thin gold chain hung like it did every day. 

“You’ll grow up soon enough, and then you’ll wonder how it happened so fast.” He took a sip of his sweet tea. His words were familiar, but she couldn’t place them. Suzanna studied the man at the head of the table. He wasn’t the Grandpa she remembered, not at the end. His skin was tan and only just beginning to show signs of sickness—unlike the thin, papery layer that covered his bones when she hugged him the last time. It seemed like both yesterday and a lifetime ago when she’d last seen him. She was sixteen when he’d passed. 

This dream-version of Grandpa was correct—how did she grow up so fast? 

“Wanna know something neat?” He leaned forward and peered at her over the tops of his glasses, wiry, white eyebrow hairs curling in every direction. He hesitated a moment, as if waiting for her to respond, though she interpreted it as a rhetorical question. “People always say to have fun while you’re a kid because all of that ends when you become an adult. I’ve never believed that. I still have plenty of fun. But there’s a trick to it.” A wet cough interrupted his speech. “Everyone thinks they’re more grown than they really are. We’re all tryin’ to figure out how to live the best we can, and sometimes, we worry so much about doin’ it just right that we forget to have fun along the way.”

His words clicked, and Suzanna remembered. Grandpa had said these things to her in the past, but she’d nearly forgotten—a distant memory scheduled for deletion now brought back to the surface. Based on how he looked, she must have been seven or eight at the time. He was known for sharing life lessons over the dinner table, particularly when she put up a fuss about something. It became such a regular thing she eventually tuned him out, only remembering his advice from her earliest years. 

The entire situation was incredibly strange, and Suzanna felt her head for any goose eggs. No knots or tender spots… and she felt fine. Better than fine, actually. One of Grandpa’s big hands, tough and worn as boot leather, rested on the table, and she reached for it. 

Her fingers passed right through. 

If this were a dream, she would be able to will herself to hold Grandpa’s hand. So she concentrated on making his square fingernails and liver spots corporeal and tried again. Her hand dropped through his once more. Suzanna huffed in frustration and watched him. He was quiet, but his gaze was fixed on her neck again. If she’d been seven or eight the first time she’d lived this conversation, she would have been significantly shorter. In this memory come to life, Grandpa was gazing lovingly at a younger, smaller version of her. 

Suzanna’s nose prickled, and she blinked away the impending tears. When her vision cleared, Grandpa was gone, a hint of Old Spice aftershave lingering in the air.

The other place settings had returned to the table, and the food had disappeared from hers. She sat for a moment, staring at the doves swooping across the face of the plates—soaring untethered with their faces turned to the sky.

“Do you have any questions about anything?” The shopkeeper stood behind Grandpa’s chair, a feather duster in one hand. 

“Wha—” Suzanna’s voice cut out and she swallowed. She had many questions but didn’t know how to ask them without sounding insane. “I need to get to work.” Her feet stayed glued to the Persian rugs on the floor. 

“Of course.” The shopkeeper turned to a Tiffany lamp perched on a side table and began dusting.

Suzanna certainly hadn’t expected to find her deceased grandfather sharing one of his life lessons. She pinched herself, but didn’t wake up, which left one other option—a psychotic break. But… she probably wouldn’t realize it if she were having a psychotic break. Right? Evergrowing was the list of things to discuss with her therapist at her next session. 

Suzanna took one last look back at the dining table before stepping onto the street. The Christmas lights in the window were dark as she passed, and she took another sip of her coffee as she made her way toward the office and inevitable stress.

Grandpa was right about one thing—she had forgotten to have fun. Her Monday morning jaunt to City Brew for her weekly cappuccino was the most excitement she saw during the work week, and weekends weren’t much better. Somewhere deep in her subconscious, she knew she needed to change, to loosen up. Her stressed-out brain dredged up that memory this morning, a Hail Mary for her mental health… that’s all it had been. A memory.

When she got to the office, she stopped by the bathroom to freshen up after her commute. The muggy August weather combined with the dusty, damp store left her feeling sticky. She washed her hands and up her arms with cool water and examined herself in the mirror. Forced a smile—something her therapist recommended. A little something was caught between her lower teeth, and she picked it out with her fingernail. 

Meatloaf.