Born of Air

Passing through the museum foyer for my Monday morning shift, I stopped to scan the community bulletin board like I did every week. Rarely was there anything more interesting than a seminar on navigating by the constellations, mostly it was someone hawking their grandmother’s jewelry, but when my eyes fell on a new posting, one that I was certain hadn't been there the day before, my world shifted on its axis.


Are you passionate about ancient history? Looking for excavation experience? University students of archaeology are welcome to apply for a volunteer position on our summer dig team. Must be available for a consecutive six-week period. Airfare and accommodation will be provided.

I snatched the posting from the bulletin board like it was seconds from going up in smoke, devouring the words. The name and phone number were now emblazoned on my memory for all time. Field Director—Ethan Rich.
I knew everyone in Saltford who had any connection to the museum or so much as a passing interest in archaeology, but I had never heard of Ethan Rich.

I left the foyer and made a beeline for the ticket desk where Danielle sat chewing gum and filing her nails. Danielle was a twenty-something university dropout who had won the job in ticketing through, well, I called it nepotism, she called it her "family network." Danielle's aunt had been the museum’s curator for over a decade. 


"When did this go up?" I held up the bulletin.


Danielle dragged her eyes from her thumbnail with what seemed like monumental effort. She gave a loud snap of her gum. "Don't know. People stick stuff up there all the time. It's free."


"Yes, I know it’s free. But do you know who put it up?"

She wrinkled her brow. "There was a guy. Day before yesterday I think."


This is why I didn’t like to read minds. Even if I had been interested in probing Danielle's mind for a face or an interaction linked to the posting, she'd remember it all wrong. The human mind was a fallible thing.