In Search of a Missing Jacket

Scholastic Honorable Mention,
Accepted into Iowa Young Writers

Excerpt

The offending museum’s entrance flaunted brilliantly colored banners inviting patrons to an event named “The Impossibilities Exhibition.” I was halfway through commenting to Monocle on what a coincidence this was, before hastily realizing this was probably less a coincidence and more a blatant sign as to where Ring and Jacket could be. I passed two pillars stretching from the marble floor to the painted ceiling, their attempts to look even remotely ancient Greek foiled by faded and pressure-washed graffiti, before purchasing a ticket to the Impossibilities Exhibition. 

I was led by a sad-looking man to a sad-looking door that sported a sign saying “For the Impossibilities beyond the gate one must provide a ticket.” (The door, that is. The man sported a sign saying “Hello, my name is Fitz.”) Upon pushing open the door, I was greeted by a cacophony of noises, and a rather imposing fellow in an antique three-piece suit which seemed to be comprised more of mothballs than silk. His long hair fell down his shoulders, tangling with a messy beard below a small, trimmed mustache. He was, on the whole, entirely peculiar and I envied him for it.

Around him on what appeared to be a green-felt blackjack table sat objects that glittered, sparkled, and banged with unceasing enthusiasm. Behind him stood two imposing metal cages, the type one may buy at an impressive-cage store. In the larger one was a coathanger upon which rested a bright red cardigan splashed with orange and blue geometric shapes. I clucked my tongue sympathetically. Jacket only did cardigans when she was in an especially foul mood. In the other was a small silver ring, embedded with green stones. It was on the whole astoundingly beautiful and I was seized with the intense desire to purchase it, to give an arm or leg or carotid artery for it.