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A Father's Legacy
"I tell you one of them suitcases was ticking." The baggage handler waved his arm at the carousel urging a
security officer forward.
They wove their way through the throng waiting to claim their luggage. An elderly man,
in a rumpled black tuxedo, stared at the belt moving past him. Designer suitcases, a golf club bag,
ski poles and large duffel bag meandered like exotic fish swimming along the current of a slowly moving river.
A battered cardboard box tied in dark green twine slid down the ramp. The old man's eyes lit up and he shuffled
forward to gently grab the box off the conveyor belt.
"That's it," the baggage handler pointed to the old man. "That box is ticking.
It's a bomb!" His voice rising with each sentence.
People scattered toward the exits. The security officer quickly stepped in front of the old man.
"Sir, put the box on the floor and step away from it." He grabbed his cell and alerted the security
office, "A possible bomb at Carousel 22."
The old man's hands were shaking. "You don't understand. It was my father's." He clutched
the box to his chest and tried to move to the exit and the buses.
Drawing his revolver the security officer pointed it at the man. "Please sir, put the box down and move away."
Several other security personnel and uniformed police officers arrived on the scene.
The old man was in tears. "It's not a bomb. My father was a conductor; one of New York
Symphony's finest. I followed in his footsteps, but was never as a great a success."
He stumbled and the box fell to the floor. "It disappeared when he died. They found it
and his tuxedo when they tore down his old apartment building. It was too big. They made me check
it before boarding the plane," he rambled on as he sunk to the floor cradling the box in his arms.
One of the police officers approached and squatted down next to the old man. "Would you please open it, sir?"
Pulling the twine off the box, the flaps fell open to reveal a three-foot tall metronome,
the arm slowly ticking. "I guess the turbulence of the flight set it off."
The embarrassed security officer backed away as several in the crowd began to snicker.
"Okay, the show's over, move on now."
The police officer helped to tie the twine around the box and walked the old man to his bus.
"Sorry about that, Sir. One can't be too careful nowadays."
Carol A. Cole has had stories appear in Apollo's Lyre, Nimue's Grotto and Flashshot
online and several print magazines.
Email: Carol A. Cole
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