Francesca, On The Cusp.

Francesca was born at precisely 11:59 on December 31st, 1999.

“You were on the cusp of being born in the new millennium!” Her nurse had said, slapping her bottom when she didn’t cry.

And so, she was marked, to live her life on the cusp always, stuck between worlds.

It should come as no surprise then that Francesca worked at the largest vintage store housed in the city’s most modern mall.

Francesca loved malls. She loved the pungent chemical perfume smells. The simultaneously sweet and sickening scents of pretzels. Most of all, she loved the people in malls, the sizeable human landscape of hundreds of miles in each direction neatly cataloged into one manageable space. 

She liked connecting with the mall dwellers while preserving her stoicism.  Staring boldly into so many faces yet not feeling pressured to smile. She was committing their faces and details she found interesting to memory, later sketching them.

Francesca started her Wednesday like any other - with a cup of tea and a cheddar and chive scone. Her parents had left for the day, and she relished the quiet of 8 am. Settling on a vintage, pink velvet chair, she grabbed her small black notebook to write down her three priorities for the day.

She’d found it in the glove department of her cherry-red 1977 Fiat Spider.

Francesca’s dad, a car restoration mechanic, had brought the car to her attention.

The Fiat Spider came into the shop almost unsalvagable. Her father knew she’d love it despite its condition.

They worked for over a year to restore the Spider to its almost original glory.

During the restoration, she'd found a small, black notebook in the glove department along with four undeveloped rolls of film still in their canisters.

The classic, black, leather notebook was slightly worn, with gently rounded corners, an ‘In case of loss’ notice, a neat elastic closure, and a matching bookmark ribbon. Despite its age, the quality and design caught her eye and ensured the notebook’s usability.

“Dad, do we know who was the previous owner of this car?” Francesca asked.

She was intrigued by the undeveloped film, and she wanted to know where in time it was from. Nevertheless, she was respectful enough to temper her interest. If there were someone out there who owned this film, she’d be happy to return it.

“No, Franny,” her dad responded, “the car was purchased at auction, in a lot of cars, meant for scrap.”

Francesca sighed; she’d brought the film home and stored them in her 1950’s, checkered, metal lunch box. She decided that if she didn't find the owner after a year, she would develop the film.

All the pages in the notebook were blank. Therefore she had no qualms about keeping it. It became a daily planner of sorts. She’d write her three priorities down and then cross her successes off at the end of the day.

It was Francesca’s proverbial “gap year,” but she wasn't sure about college.

Her dream was to open a vintage shop that sold everything from clothes to books and maybe even vintage cars.Her shop “Cusp” would also have a darkroom in the back.

She'd initially purchased a Nikon FM in mint condition purely for the aesthetics. After reading the book Ways of Seeing by John Berger, however, she'd fallen in love with photography.

Francesca was a solitary creature. Just as watching the guests at the mall, Photography was another way of connecting with others while maintaining a comfortable distance. The camera around her neck was the perfect heft to bolster her. While she was generally shy, accompanied by the camera, she would boldly talk to strangers.

“Excuse me, can I take your picture?” or sometimes not asking at all, stealthily snapping a picture.

Her bedroom walls bore silent witness to her camera’s work. Their modern hue perfectly framed the photos they held. It starkly contrasted with the various vintage items living their second or fifth lives in her room.

Today was a year since she’d found the film. Unfortunately, Francesca had not found the film's owner. It was time to learn what, or if any, images would be revealed.

Francesca washed her teacup and wiped the scone crumbs from the table. With the metal box under her arm, she skipped out the door to her waiting car. She opened the cherry red door and sank into the seat. Francesca had reupholstered the seats with vintage leather jackets. On each headrest, the letter C was embroidered in Allura font.

Francesca grinned as the engine purred to life. That feeling of first love and first lust stirring within her for this inanimate object.

She pulled into the parking lot of the community center. The community center was an essential part of her town. Creativity and quality education was provided through various classes and services. Their calligraphy class was one of the best she’d taken, and the use of the darkroom was only ten dollars per session.

Francesca entered the darkroom, and the rest of the world ceased to exist. She headed into the film changing room, which was just a booth enclosed in darkness. A sensory deprivation chamber of sorts. She took the film from the vintage lunchbox and opened the canister with a can opener. Carefully removing the film, she fed it onto a metal reel. Next, Francesca placed the reel into the lightproof metal container. She repeated this process three more times, once for each roll of film. Breathing a sigh of relief every time a reel remained intact.

Francesca walked over to the film developing area, squinting as her eyes were flooded with light. She cautiously poured the premixed chemicals into the canister containing the film reels.

“This film is probably ancient. It could spontaneously combust,” She thought nervously.

She gently agitated the film while humming an anxious tune.After a few minutes and a few sets of chemical wash-rinse-cycle, it was time for the developer chemicals to stop and finish the film.

She understood the merits of digital photography. Nevertheless, this process made her feel like a regular Picasso!

Now it was safe to open and shine light on the vintage images for the first time. She pulled out the film holding her breath, watching closely as each frame came off the reel. Blank. Blank. Scratched.

Francesca’s heart dropped each time until it was in her toes.

She couldn't believe they were duds! She’d had so many romantic fantasies of what the negatives held, all for naught.

She had one roll of film left. The first ten negatives were blank but on the 11th, there was a picture of an oak tree. On the 12th frame were large words “435 St. Marks Pl.” she moved on to the 13th frame, more words: “Dig under the oak tree.”

“What in the world!” thought Franesca. The rest of the frames were alternately blank or featured the oak tree.

Her thoughts racing at a thousand miles per hour, Francesca finished printing the pictures, cleaned up and walked back to her car.

She sat in the car and pulled out the pictures, “435 St Marks Pl” she said out loud, “That’s two blocks from here!”

Francesca started the car and drove to the address, it was an empty lot she’d often walked passed. It was quite unremarkable apart from the majestic oak tree that stood at the back of the lot. The same oak tree that was in the photos!

“This is really weird” thought Ftancesca. She examined the fence. It was an average chain link fence and there was a lock on the entrance.

“I’m gonna jump it.” Francesca said determinedly. She scaled the medium fence without a hint of grace; happy she’d opted not to wear the 50s pinup dress that caught her eye that morning. Her vintage, 100 percent cotton jeans were the perfect pants for scaling a fence. The lace Victorian blouse not so much, but this encounter was a year or should she say decades in the making. There was no turning back.

She dropped down from the top of the fence into a crouch, onto the soft earth immediately heading towards the oak tree. As she caressed its giant trunk she found herself wondering whose hands had touched it.

“Why didn’t I go get a shovel,” she thought and looked around for something to dig with. A blue plastic bucket cover caught her eye.

“This will have to do,” she sighed and grabbed the cover gingerly, repulsed by the stagnant rain that had collected in its grooves. Francesca dug as best as she could, stopping and hiding behind the tree when anyone approached the lot. After digging and scraping the dirt for a while the sun began to set. She dug more furiously. “I really hope I'm not digging up a body” she said breathlessly.

Her bucket cover hit something. It wasn’t bone...it was a piece of rusty metal. She threw the cover to the side and started digging with her hands. Her heart beating so fast it drowned out all other sounds.

Soon she was able to free the metal. She brushed the dust away, blue appeared. Interspersed with the rust, she could see it was a 1960s The Jetsons lunch box. “I like this person's style!” Francesca said smiling. She opened the box slowly, hoping there wouldn’t be vintage fingers in the box.

There wasn’t. Instead it contained a small leather case, she opened it. The interior of the case was swathed in red velvet, it held two pennies encased in hard, clear plastic circles.

Francesca carefully held the pennies up to the light. “No way!” she exclaimed unable to contain her excitement. “These are 1945 Lincoln Head Copper Pennies. They're worth a lot I think.”

This was one of those times she wished she had a smartphone rather the vintage flip phone she carried. She wanted the instant gratification of Google. Francesca was ecstatic! The lunch box alone was an amazing find but the pennies was stratospheric.

She carefully tucked the leather case with the pennies back into The Jetsons lunchbox.

Francesca cleaned the handle of the lunchbox with her blouse and bit the handle. She needed her hands to climb but she refused to throw the box over the fence.

She scaled the fence again and ran back to her car. Francesca decided to drive to her Uncle August’s house. Uncle August collected coins and would know the value of these.

She pulled into his driveway and rang the doorbell. After what seemed like an eternity, Uncle August came to the door. She rushed through pleasantries then showed him the coins.

Uncle August whistled, “You're holding twenty thousand dollars in your hands Franny!” he said after a quick examination.

“Are you serious!” she screamed

“Yes,” he responded, “these pennies can usually fetch more, but yours are scratched and worn around the edges, so twenty thousand is what they’ll fetch. I can find you a buyer.”

“Maybe I want to keep these...” Francesca said.

“Your choice but let me know” Uncle August replied warmly.

Deep down Francesca knew she’d sell the pennies. She could open her vintage store and donate to the community center that had given her so much. It was the place where she developed her creativity and received a quality education. She had become a traveler, a thinker, and a story teller.

Grabbing her small black notebook from her pocket she crossed off “develop film.” She grinned up at the sky and said silently, “Whoever and wherever your are, you are a person with impeccable taste! Thanks!” She was on the cusp of something incredible.

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A month later, the pennies were sold for twenty thousand dollars. Francesca opened Cusp with a digital storefront. After three years in business she was able to travel She returned with a wealth of inspiration and lived creatively ever after. A small black notebook always within reach.