1917

May 16, 1918

  The next morning, my mother greeted me with a surprising bit of news that had me wide-eyed and buzzing with excitement.  “We’re going to the paleontology museum today,” she said with a smile, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.

“A museum? You mean with fossils and dinosaurs and all that?” I asked, trying to mask my childlike eagerness. “Yes, and they’ve got a full brontosaurus skeleton on display,” she added. That was all I needed to hear. The brontosaurus was my absolute favorite dinosaur, and the thought of standing in front of its towering bones made my heart race.

  The journey there felt like an eternity, but as we pulled up to the museum, my excitement grew tenfold. Inside, the air was cool, and the faint smell of polished stone and ancient dust filled the halls. Each step echoed as we walked through the exhibits, passing displays of prehistoric fish and ancient plants.

  And then, there it was—the brontosaurus. Its massive skeleton stretched across the exhibit, every rib and vertebra perfectly preserved. The towering neck and gentle curve of its tail gave it an almost majestic air, as if it were silently guarding the memories of an ancient world.

  I stood there in awe, my imagination running wild. “It’s… huge,” I whispered, craning my neck to take it all in.

“You used to draw these when you were little,” my mother said softly, standing beside me. “I remember,” I replied with a smile. But seeing it in person—its sheer size and scale—was something else entirely. It felt like meeting an old friend in the most unexpected place. For a moment, the worries of life melted away, replaced by wonder and the timeless magic of discovery.

“I only wish we had a camera!” I exclaimed, a twinge of frustration in my voice. The moment felt so monumental that it seemed almost criminal not to capture it somehow.   My mother gave a wistful smile. “Cameras aren’t exactly for family outings these days,” she said. “They’re more for war photographers and newspapermen. Maybe one day they’ll be used for things like this.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?” I sighed, eyes never leaving the towering bones. “To be able to look at this again whenever you wanted, even years from now?”   She placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.   “We don’t need a photograph, Jeremy. You’ll remember this in your heart. Sometimes, the best memories don’t need pictures to stay alive.”

  I nodded reluctantly, though part of me still wished for a snapshot. The brontosaurus deserved to be immortalized, its towering skeleton a monument to a world I could only imagine. Still, I resolved to burn the image of its graceful neck and massive frame into my mind. Some memories, I supposed, were meant to be carried within, as precious and untouchable as the fossils before me.

  Next, we ventured into the prehistoric fish exhibit. The room was dimly lit, casting an ethereal glow on the skeletons and preserved replicas of ancient marine creatures. Among them, the coelacanths caught my attention most vividly. Their fossilized remains stretched out in meticulous display, bony ridges and intricate fins seeming to ripple under the soft lighting.

  I stood transfixed, imagining them swimming through murky Devonian waters, darting through underwater forests, fins gliding effortlessly. It wasn’t just fascinating—it was exhilarating. For a moment, I felt transported, peering through a portal into Earth’s ancient history.

“They’re incredible, aren’t they?” my mother said, breaking the silence. “Incredible doesn’t even begin to describe them,” I replied, barely able to tear my eyes away. “They’re like living time machines, frozen in rock.” She nodded. “It’s amazing to think they’ve survived for so long. A real testament to resilience, wouldn’t you say?”

  I thought about that—about survival, enduring against unfathomable odds. Perhaps that was part of what made the coelacanths special. They weren’t just relics of the past; they were symbols of persistence and strength, echoes of a time so far removed from my own yet somehow deeply resonant.

  Afterward, we walked to the gift shop, where my eyes landed on something that made my heart skip a beat—a megalodon tooth strung on a necklace. Its serrated edges gleamed faintly under the dim lighting, a relic of power and mystery from the depths of time.

“I need this,” I said breathlessly, clutching it as if it might slip through my fingers. “It’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”   My mother examined it with an indulgent smile.“How much is it?” she asked.

“Five dollars,” the shopkeeper replied nonchalantly, as though it were mere pocket change.

  My jaw nearly hit the floor. Five dollars was no small sum—it could stretch far in daily life, buying necessities. For a trinket like this, it was an extravagance I could hardly dream of.

  I hesitated, conscience tugging at me, but longing won out. “You really want it, don’t you?” my mother asked.   “Yes, more than anything,” I admitted.

  She tapped her chin thoughtfully before finally saying, “Alright, but this is a special treat. Don’t go expecting this every time we go out.”

  My heart soared as she handed over the money. I put on the necklace immediately, feeling its weight against my chest—a tangible connection to the ancient world, a reminder of resilience and strength.

“Thank you, Mother,” I said sincerely, hugging her tightly. “This means the world to me.” “You’re welcome, Jeremiah,” she said with a soft smile. “But remember, it’s not just the gift—it’s the story behind it that makes it special.”

  As we left the shop, I held the necklace in my hand, feeling the smooth fossil surface under my fingertips. It was more than a souvenir—it was a piece of history I could carry, a reminder of the wonders I’d seen that day and of my mother’s love.

  I went home brimming with excitement, practically skipping through the door. The visit to the Westworth Museum of Paleontology had been everything I’d hoped for and more. The towering skeletons, the prehistoric fish exhibit, and now the megalodon tooth all felt like a dream come true.

  I turned to my mother, gratitude spilling over. “Thank you, Mother,” I said, voice full of emotion. She smiled warmly.   “Of course, Jeremiah. I love you very much, you know. James would have been so proud of you,” she said softly, voice tinged with emotion, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  Hearing his name spoken with such tenderness sent a pang through my chest. My father’s pride was something I’d never hear again, but in her words, I felt a fragment of what could have been. Bittersweet—a reminder of loss, but also of the love that remained.

“I hope so,” I replied quietly, throat tightening. “I just… I hope I’m doing enough.” She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.   “You are, Jeremiah. You are strong and kind, just like him. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  Her words carried a conviction I wasn’t sure I deserved, but I let myself believe them. We stood there, silence speaking volumes, each of us holding onto the memory of a man who had shaped our lives in ways we were still discovering.

  As I made my way to my room, her words echoed in my mind: James would have been proud. I clung to that thought, hoping to live up to it—not just for him, but for her, and maybe, for myself too.

“Yes, I know,” I chuckled, feeling my face light up despite myself. Her love was something I never doubted, but it was always nice to hear.

  We shared a quiet moment, unspoken but understood. Everything in the world felt just right—like a perfect alignment of stars.

  As I headed to my room, I caught a glimpse of the megalodon tooth in the mirror. It dangled against my chest, a small but powerful symbol of the incredible day we’d shared. I resolved to cherish it forever—not just for what it was, but for the memory it now carried. It wasn’t just about ancient history—it was about making my own, one moment at a time.