The Golden Thread

It was the middle of March in North Carolina and pine cones were tightly wound with expectation that the spring equinox would usher in some much needed Sun to aggregate the flora and fauna that grace the landscape with complexions of green only the inhabitants could fathom. The local species, both existing and emerging, await the spillage of colour onto the ground, and thusly overhead, and so forth all around as the lush nature will have added warmth to the woods by the time spring spirals into summer. Like spring cleaning, this rolling out of the leaves make it a chore to celebrate the simultaneous endings and new beginnings happening during the juxtaposition of this season, even if it were the pre-existing notions of Solace's 13th birthday. It was Wednesday and all seemed the same when the Matriarch of Solace's immediate family descended the spiral staircase of their mystical home with a gift in one hand and cigarette in the other, she typically did not practice but the thought of falling behind on the bills, a missed menstrual and only being able to afford to give her son the gift she swore to her father that she would give to Solace on his 13th birthday made for a haphazard display of emotions that could only be met with silence. There he was, fully dressed and awaiting breakfast followed by a sequence of events that would commemorate yet another revolution around the Sun. He was astute in nature, gifted for his age and well read to be an only child, due in part because he was homeschooled by the scholars in his family and spent summers being mentored by the family linguist, the family florist, the family neurologist and this summer he was due to meet his Aunt Carole, she was the family member most fluent in bookkeeping. Although, aside from beekeeping, it was uncertain how he would keep busy an entire season until summer vacation reconvened. His mother sat this matte black box with gold trim in front of him and wished him well on this day where his pubescence as a young man has made her so proud yet she cannot spare the showcase of emotions. She leaves him with the box and heads for the outdoor gazebo, a new routine she has picked up since the holidays. His eyes would follow her anytime she maneuvered out of his presence without a word from him. He seemingly manages to redirect his attention back to this box, daunting the lack of presentation to wonder what could be inside. There was no cake, no candles, only the resounding silence right before making a wish, no flame to extinguish and no smell of cooling candle wax mingling with icing. One of his hands managed to slip from his knee to initiate contact with the box; the other hand naturally meeting the box with curiosity. He would remove the one-time golden seal that ensured the box was securely fastened and opened only by the recipient to find a card made of pure gold implanted into the velvet fabric. Now that the card was dislodged from the cardholder of a box, it read: 'Freeman Library' but what would he do with a library card when he has the liberty to read from his expansive home library in which he has made a successful dent, purchase books online, or at the very least, anticipate any of the many books sent in the mail year-round at the expense of generous relatives that "want nothing but the best" for him? Solace had an idea. He would fully immerse himself in apiology and ecology to curb, and account for, the lack of bees that did not make it to their farm last year to produce enough hives for harvesting the honey that would financially cushion their family until his mother's divorce from his father were final. He had become observatory throughout the legal process but, nonetheless, aware of the legal concept of marriage, or divorce for that matter.

Already dressed in his best with pure intention in his heart, imagination on his mind and autonomy in his pocket, Solace set out in the direction of the library, with the only card in his rolodex, tucked in its box, and safeguarded inside a miniature leather briefcase from his grandmother. The path to the library was unforgettable, it had been the central location for so many carpool adventures with family, last minute emergencies, and the heart of the neighborhood. As he eventually approached the epicenter of the community, his brain thoroughly nourished from the journey to the library, he realizes he is not acquainted with the true functionality of a local library, all he knew was that this was where family settled all legal matters and gathered "research". He continued on his journey toward the main entrance of the library where a flight of stairs led down to a revolving door guarded by a heavy bronze door inlaid with keyhole, keycard and keypad but there were no instructions nor an instructor to administer this process, all he had was a card. His mother had not equipped him with the bronze key she uses when making trips to the library the night before a custody battle trial in which case,

the odds always lent themselves in her favor. And the family blacksmith, that occasionally dabbles in duplicating keys, does not open up shop until 12'noon. There was no amount of patience that would constitute the few hours remaining until noon; he will configure a plan. After recalling, recounting and retyping all relevant 8-digit codes imaginable, his eyes fell upon the keycard method that, at first, seemed like a separator for the 2 options listed but it was not a means of partition as much as it was an opening of sorts. Cramming his fingernail into the slit to measure width and depth, he thoughtfully considered what objects in his possession could manage the trial and possible error of his ways. The library card !! After stammering with anxiety to retrieve the gold card from his suitcase and then from its box to meet the library card with the keycard opening: the door buoys open once the card touches the furthest point of the lock, aligning perfectly with the beveled shape of the card and fits just enough to retract it back after granting entry. Solace proceeds to cross the threshold with the counter clockwise activation of the revolving door latching the bronze door shut behind him after sensing the removal of his bodyweight - one could innately sense that the library was heavily monitored yet delicately measured by winding clocks, weighted scales and wavering sensory technology. Once inside, one could hear the clambering of industrial material begin to smooth out the initial shifting of gears into a synchronized orchestration of metal that dictates, in large part, one's primal steps forward from the foyer into the vortex of the library. Solace noticed that the luring energy of the library had begun to metabolize him, it was chaperoning him forward, around the edges of the ground floor through a showcase of voluminous text and back around to the foyer before insinuating the spiral staircase upward. If he were not so overwhelmed, he could swear the floor were moving and coinciding with his next footsteps but he was already moving along the staircase that was, in fact, operating like the escalators he had learned to use in the mall !! Just when he thought the pre-installed mechanics would spiral out of control, it halted after whipping around the second floor where more volumes of text have collected dust and led to a familiar face of doors where their family scoured thick texts to reference, gathered said "research" and settled all family disputes but it was also locked, dark and only had a keyhole option. Naturally continuing in the direction intended, the next set of stairs swivels up the staircase, except, this floor opened up to a cylindrical display of books unimaginable to those who have never seen it. The way the colors of the stained glass windows shown into the room, that seems to be expanding at the same walking pace as the cardholder, also seemed to trace the movement of the sun as it began to make a smooth transition from dawn toward noon. The artist entrusted to describe the visuals projected at him could only be narrated, illustrated and demonstrated by his Aunt Jackie, the florist. She could thoroughly interpret and attribute this showmanship of colour to what the hummingbird sees due to the given rods and cones in their eyes, that we lack, allowing them to see a whole host of ultraviolet colors unknown to man. Solace and his mother benefited greatly from her recommendation to harvest honey and they commune with her religiously when they: need an herbal concoction to curb any symptom, need-to-know the best annuals and perennials to enliven their arrangement of flowers to attract honeybees and when planting the seeds that give rise to the birds and the bees. Aunt Jackie was eclectic at best, abstract at worst and flexible in her means of methodology yet absolute about rendering and recording data, following nature's calendar and delivering the best answers to even the worst questions. Although, it is unclear how Aunt Jackie's poetic expression of emotion, intention and information would do any justice now that the room stood still enough to present itself as a showroom of books instead of a myriad of collusion within a kaleidoscope. Now that Solace has gained his footing on solid ground, he is able to grasp some of the finer details about the mechanical library. He had never known of any other libraries, aside from that of his immediate and extended families', for it to be up for much comparison but he did notice his ability to easily find his way around. Coming to the end of a bookshelf was the only recognition of real-time before having to return home at a decent hour but surely it was still morning. As he started down the next aisle, skimming the books to find the recurring titles from his knowledge of books, a set of gold eyes caught his at eye level. From a short distance, a stealth creature did not blink a whence, if anything, it fixated it's gaze on Solace even more intensely. Solace, looking for the nearest visual and literal exit, breaks eye contact and races through the intricate layout of the third floor to get back to the staircase but the creature is almost parallel in movement and reciprocal in anticipation to see the full display of opponent. As the enigma began to use the bookshelves to hunt the only moving target in the entire library, it managed to stifle Solace into a corner that looked no different from the others when running full speed ahead. It only paused for a moment to catch it's balance on top the bookshelf before it started to leap bookshelves just to remain parallel with Solace, whose eyes are now locked on a potential corridor that is a foot under his height but the only option to lose the creature that has gained on him entirely !! The creature pushes Solace to the floor, using his shoulders to cushion it's landing from the top of the bookcase to the floor and positions itself so that Solace lies at it's feet. The serval, or large domesticated wild cat breed, would wait for it's prey to stop squirming before inspecting the catch of the day. But Solace was moreso shocked to find the servals loose, in the library of all places, seeing as though he only saw them in passing or in transit from a family member's house, maybe to the veterinarian, maybe, here. The serval was displeased to find Solace alive and well but would settle for automated dispensed tuna, a rat if lucky and the occasional cockroach that creeps in looking to devour the glue that binds pages to booklets; their craving for this specific glue is why cats are permitted in libraries and bookshops around the world and it is the very reason servals are used in this library. The tall and dutiful creature gracefully disregards Solace and turns it's body away from him to push past the metal ball-and-chain draped corridor that lead the large cats inside the walls, where pestilence enters from outside, sure, but what else? While already on bent knees, Solace crawls a few more feet before sticking his head into the opening of the wall, vertical beads dangling from the top of his head, as he followed the guidance of the cat whose due diligence has tripled: to oversee the gutters outside that separates the library from the sidewalk, to do occasional sweeps inside the library, and apparently secure all the middle ground. The feline clearance just barely required him to adjust his height but he could never duplicate the level of grace these gatekeepers exuded as they tightrope walked on long thin metal beams that span the ceiling and floor, it's like, the space between the walls began to look and act like a secret passageway, or better yet, a space of it's own. Thank goodness there was a considerate welder that thought enough of the mice to assemble a straight flight of metal stairs from the ceiling to the floor, although rather uncomfortable without a handrail. From this view, the cats were in charge and safeguarded the premises from any sight of an imposter; Sister and Mister were the family pets and the exterminators when rodents and pests found themselves infesting any of the many properties. Solace was rounding out his thoughts, smoothing the edges and adding color to the grey areas of his mind, not to mention, the unanswered questions that had otherwise been met with silence were, now, better given the context. He was essentially in the lion's den where the felines bring their prey, adhere to a chronological routine, and have scheduled access to the elongated pasture just outback the library. He had never seen how the cats lived before now and judging by the height and width of the gutters separating the library cement wall from civility: it was trivial to gauge when he would ever be tall enough to see over the blockade. The den was losing it's seasonal draft and getting warmer as the day shown in on the sacred quarters, it had the lighting of a basement but an aesthetic of sophistication that was transforming the library into a domain.

Afraid of heights, Solace has jumbled his clothes scooting steps while remaining glued to the wall for manual support. With his fingers and limbs fully erect and full of tension as he offloaded the last few steps, the animals accompanied him with affectionate nudges, circling seduction and ripples of purring that perpetuate a trance-like state. The feline guardians were guiding the experience by inebriating Solace and summoning him toward the center console of the den. In all his life he had never felt this majestic or certain about the life surrounding him that is steadily beckoning him into the future. The newfound cool, calm and collected bravado had totally encased him and awakened in him, a self fulfilling prophesy to reach day's end, if nothing else. For the first time, his mind was all in one place and not scattered amongst the universe, suspended and scathing for the wherewithal to focus on a single thing. He could not break this sense of peace and he would proceed forward with it until it subsided; the floor transitioned from cement to metal as he naturally occupied the 8 foot wide titanium podium that stood alone and was a step up from the ground as opposed to the rest of the den that lay idle. The raised podium was enveloped by 3 rings, it reminded him of dendrochronology, a word his Uncle Lionel, the linguist, taught him when his uncle wanted to distract him with thick copious diction to keep him sharp; Solace was excelling at an astronomical rate during summers spent with Uncle Lionel. Solace was the ideal pupil to any scholar but because of his knack to discern and decipher information, he has spent countless summers, and sometimes winter vacation, with his mom's brother, Lionel. Each time he returned home from Virginia, he obtained a spike in his development process, a faster reading pace, and an advanced skill set that can only forge on the mind's of those his age. Although well spoken, read and written, he had no idea what to do at this stand nor what oath to recite, now that he has approached the bench but without much needed direction from his mother. He resumed his innate mimicry of what he'd seen in court from his parents by raising his left hand while the other hand mandated the right of way over his heart as he stood before the judicial system. But it was only him governing himself and delegating order in this court, so he slowly let his arms down by his side as he regained awareness of real time, of which he hadn't the slightest clue existed up until a moment ago. He twiddled his fingers and chimed his nails against the gold card in his pocket as his equilibrium stabilized and his eyes began to shift around for clues within the environment but the podium was only a huge calculator of sorts without the keypad to input figures and rectangles too small for it to be a retina detector, fingerprint analysis or face recognition as he had seen in movies. His sight was presenting no leads so he became inclined to listen and his manual ticks against the gold provided a safe haven for his thoughts to commune. "Ting. Ting. Tinggg...". The last soundbite resonated so deeply, it practically initiated him to remove the hefty gold card from his pocket and place it in the black indentation of the podium that is about the same length of the box with gold trim. This electrifying experience is causing him to clench tightly to the gold card before loosening his grip to align the card perfectly with yet another potential placeholder. Once the card is relinquished, a fluctuation of numbers activates just above the placeholder; it is a scale and the floormat of the podium, where his feet rests, is how you tear and clear the scale, he could attest to just having learned this from shadowing his father in labs, during light rotations at the hospital and whenever young adults were permitted to attend seminars in Neuroscience. These, sometimes graphic and obscene, settings and circumstances are the reason his parents are hashing out a custody battle due to "risk of exposure" followed by a conjured list of "safe spaces" he is able to visit betwixt the two families. The scale is counting and weighing the gold as much as Solace is recounting and weighing in on his memories of times past; the scale lands at "31.1034769" grams, a pure ounce of gold. The podium shifts and gradually morphs from a contemporary center console into an elaborate elevator that looks like it could escort patrons safely through a visual exhibition of the earth's core, and out the other side, as spherical and impenetrable glass unearthed from the rings below to meet the ceiling, encapsulating the console. The glass was fastening Solace into the levitating device and insulating a double wall of protection roundabout him as he grabbed onto the edges of the disc-shaped mechanism because this was no console. Being in the walls and now in a translucent vessel, he gazed upon the internal systems and organization of it all before descending into the ground; the texture just beyond the glass was titanium at first, then cement, some yards of soil, limestone and, last but not least, books. Black and white handwritten books, journals, travelogues, archives, to say least, personal accounts from those within the Freeman lineage. In awe at the whirlpool of books never seen before by man, yet within his arms reach, his fear of heights vanished as his hands unleashed their secure grip from the edges of the podium, instinctively, glossing over the metal surface in hopes of dangling at his side when the transportation device stopped. The gold card had been briefly disassociated from the cardholder, bringing the mechanical carriage to a halt. The titanium windmill under his feet indicated to Solace that the earth craft was not broken but stalling until the scale was balanced by the keyholder, not to mention, wind and solar powered. Overwhelmed by the engineering, Solace eventually situated the keycard into it's rightful place and descended a few more meters before noticing the machines remote viewing and steering capabilities. All the books were white with the exception of a replicating black book for every slew of 10 white books, like keys on a piano. As Solace descended 33 yards into the rabbithole, he could hear the jazz pianist of his father's liking as he decided to rotate himself down the spine of the apparatus to the absolute bottom to get to the heart of the matter. At the base of the experience, were the sentiments and evidence of Abraham Lincoln's Will on display as he grants his former slaves full knowledge, access and possession of his wealth, long-term investments and his storehouse of assets, knowing it would ultimately lead to impeachment, if not, his assassination. Solace was often told picking up pennies off the ground was good luck but he did not know the origins of these superstitions, these family rituals. He ascends this body of knowledge to meet the first of many little black books and the examination window is lined with latex to provide an interactive experience while protecting the vintage text, preserving the ink and stored underground to prevent fading from extraneous elemental factors. The further down he excavated, the more difficult it became to read the handwriting and understand the context; subsequently, as he spiraled onward and upward, the easier and more legible the content was to understand. This time capsule was waterproof, it is disclosed in the last white book as the latest invention registered among the private sector of Lincoln's estate and forbidden to the public. After hours of "research", Solace gathered a synopsis of his findings, and simply put, he comes from a long line of inventors. The little Black Books were more legible than the white books because these were the markings of young black inventors about his age whose stories were carefully archived and deemed priceless; whereas the larger white books are the descendant's initial models, first drafts, manuscripts, even blueprints, and all archived body of work following the maximum capacity of a descendants Black Book. Typically by the time an heir or heiress has fulfilled their little Black Book, they will have ingested enough information to create and not regurgitate; having reached a measurable account of self mastery, the following book is white to facilitate creativity from pure intention and a means of bridging the gap between little Black book descendants and ancestors. Take his great, great, Grandfather Ulysses for instance, who founded the most effective, efficient and essential library system known to mankind while the public abides by the Library of Congress Classification System or Dewey Decimal Classification System to organize books. On the grounds of public versus private, the Freeman linage alongside other household names under the tutelage of Abraham Lincoln, legally and respectfully cannot and do not share private intellectual property, or any property for that matter. Their family classification system was theirs and functioned in a three-fold manner that simultaneously expands upon the trajectory of an individuals past, present and future. The system acts as an internal and external guide predicting, yet ultimately placing seekers on the path of literal, occupational and archival search and research. In accordance with the golden ratio, the classification system aligns it's occupants with the most compatible, conducive and comprehensive information that is essential for their potentiality. This classification system not only organizes books but automates, initiates, and accommodates an onward, upward, inward and outward spiral of progression for the seeker that ensures and incites that the seeker and successor of their family is all knowing to the best of their knowledge, at all times and in any capacity. Solace would come to know himself intrinsically after matriculating to the surface of the den to find that the day had progressed well into the afternoon. As different parts of the mechanical time capsule rose to the occasion while other parts receded to unveil the youngest heir to a lofty inheritance: he stepped down from the center console and it dispensed a vacuum sealed archival set that included his little Black Book with name engraved, a bookmark made of pure gold, a $20,000 inheritance check to fund his innovation and further encrypted instructions to answer any questions he could possibly have in regard to passing down keys to his children. Earlier pioneers of the family tradition assumed 13 was too young to start ones personal endeavors but Solace, even if "in over his head" was not your ordinary descendant, but a gentleman and a scholar.

He would envision the sanctity of his life the entire walk home and ponder how to charter the course of his life but with the day he has had, he could only configure how much of life was beyond him until he was able to grasp it for himself. At this point in his life, with child-like essence still intact, all he could truly think about was how he would maximize his time in the family library during the spring mo nths until we was further exposed to yet another facet of knowledge via members of his family crest. Solace would return home with inspiration in his heart, longevity in his spirit and inheritance in his pocket; he had no idea what more Aunt Carole could tell him about books after unveiling yet another library and acquiring rites of passage through family simulation but he was confident he could stand the test of time. This moment was paramount because his family resented the remark that 'if you want to hide something from a black man, put it in a book', so it became his life mission to discover this hidden knowledge and nothing would keep him from defying heinous stigmas, not even a bookkeeper.