The Portale Box

There weren't always dragons in the valley. At first it was exciting and I thought perhaps my little misstep wasn't such a big deal. Reporters went wild. Zoologists dropped everything to try and get a closer look. Hell, capitalism didn't waste a breath before businesses latched on and churned out all manner of dragon-swag. T-shirts, special edition zippo lighters with little dragon mouths that would spout a flame, massive blow-up dragons outside of car dealerships, the works. It was really something. Until the destruction started. Its silly, really, that people didn't anticipate that part. That I didn't. Giant, mythical, fire-breathing lizards and they saw dollar signs instead of sharp teeth and a living, breathing blow-torch. So honestly, most of this isn't my fault. Well, I mean, some of it is. Fuck. I did sort of...bring them here.

It all started at the beginning of Summer. I had just finished High School and while I was watching all of my over-achieving friends make their plans for college, I was planning for a nice, lazy summer. College was out of the question for me. Its not that I'm not smart enough. My grades were pretty good, especially in science. I had even gotten a couple of partial scholarships. But for me to go I would've needed a full ride and that just wasn't possible. I didn't care, though. College is for suckers. I knew what was in the cards for guys like me. I'll get some entry-level chump job, work for minimum wage for probably my whole life, maybe meet someone and have a couple of offspring and then croak. The path was all laid out, and being the realist that I am, I wasn't going to sweat it. I knew how to make the most of shitty situations and before I dove into the inevitable, churn of the daily grind, I was going to enjoy my damn summer. That basically just involved spending most of my days laying by the pool. And by pool I'm referring to the dilapidated, scummy, once-was-a-pool-now-resembled-a-wild-marsh looking thing in the trailer park's communal area. But luckily, when you're as smart as I am, you know that the best tool in your arsenal is an active imagination. I'd sit out there with my airpods in, shades on, with a couple of beers I swiped from the fridge while my mom worked a double shift and imagine I was in Jamaica enjoying a salt-breeze and the gentle, swaying palm trees while catching a decent buzz. It wasn't half-bad.

It was on one of these sunny, lackadaisical days that the universe decided my small, one-track, simple life just wasn't shitty enough. I had just started my morning and had gotten settled by the pool. I'll never forget the sound of Mrs. Nissaw's voice calling my name.

"Jo-o-rdan", her voice breaking as she called me from the little stoop of her double-wide. My bleary, slightly drunk eyes rolled open and over to her slight frame.

"Hmm?", was all I could muster. She hobbled over to me and as she got closer the look on her face made all the blood in my body turn to ice.

"Jordan, your momma...there was an accident and..." her voice trailed off in a sob. It was strange. I knew how that sentence was going to end. In some fucked up way I think I was anticipating this. I didn't even hear the rest of what she said. The details of the accident didn't matter did they? She was gone. Mrs. Nissaw clutched at my shirt. I think she was trying to hug me, but I pulled away and in a few quick paces stepped into the deep end of the algae-laden pool and let myself sink to the bottom of the filth. Fuck. I didn't take out my airpods.

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Later, and with a clearer head, I stumbled into mine and mom's trailer dripping stinky algae water behind me. After a quick shower I grabbed my beat-up duffle bag and shoved a few clothes, a toothbrush, some deodorant, and my sneakers into the bag. Then I went to my mom's room. I paused at the doorway. Her bed was rumpled and one of her dirty work uniforms from the night before was strewn on the ground. The little mirror she had nailed to the wall where she would put on her mascara every day held old, taped artwork that I had made for her when I was little. On a piece of purple construction paper were two, haphazard looking stick figures. One with crazy curly hair and hoop earrings, and other, smaller figure held her stick-hand and wore a huge, broad smile. Written above that in crayon were the words 'My mom is my best friend'. I felt hot tears spring into my eyes and I shoved the heels of my hands into them. I don't have time for this shit, I thought, and forced myself to step into the room.

Mom always kept a small stash of cash in case of emergencies. I knew there wouldn't be much in there, maybe a couple hundred bucks if I was lucky, but I'd have to make do. I rifled through her small closet and found it on the shelf behind a couple of shoe boxes. I quickly counted out the $234 inside and shoved it into my duffle bag. I was just about to close the closet door when a small box caught my eye. Her jewelry box.

I hadn't seen this thing in ages. It used to be prominently displayed on mom's dresser back when they had lived in a proper house. I would watch her get ready for work, or to go out on a date and the last thing she did was carefully consider the items in this jewelry box before selecting the appropriate piece to complete her look. There wouldn't be much in there now, since working at a diner didn't exactly call for accessories. And back then the jewelry box was a hell of a lot nicer to look at but dust and time had robbed it of any kind of luster. I pulled it carefully off the shelf and paused before opening it. I knew what I was going to have to do with the contents of this box and the weight of the wrongness of it all settled heavily on my shoulders. Fuck it. I'll look at it later, I thought, as I shoved the box in my duffle bag too.

Hours later, I sat on a megabus heading as far away from the trailer park as I could afford to. With one airpod in (the other was lost in the scum-pool), I turned up my mom's favorite playlist and closed my eyes, and wondered what mom would think. She would understand, right? I can't stay there. If I was stuck before, I'd be even more stuck now. I'm 18 and her next of kin. Her only kin. I'm going to get saddled with everything. The funeral. The trailer. The debt! The weight of losing her, of having her memory reduced to a stack of bills that was going to bury me and secure my future to be a sickening mirror of how my mom had to live and struggle. My mom was more than that. More than her debt. And she wanted so much more for me. I'm just a kid! Well, actually, as of a few weeks ago I'm an adult in the eyes of the world. So, I made my very first adult decision as a very adult 18-year-old. I ran.

After an $80 bus ticket and some stale gas-station food, I knew I was going to have to come up with a plan quickly. The bus dropped me off just south of the Valley in a small town and I made my way towards the main street shops a few blocks from the station. If I could figure out a way to make enough money, maybe I could get to Mexico and get a new identity or something. The level of poor planning was really starting to hit me. How the fuck was I going to do this? I didn't know how to start a new life. I felt the panic start to well up in my chest and I quickened my pace. On the main strip of town I looked for some kind of beacon to help inspire my next steps. Maybe I could crash at a homeless shelter until I figure my shit out. Would the bill collectors be after me? How soon? Will they track me if I have to use my ID? Would a shelter ask for ID? Do homeless people even have ID's? I sighed an kept walking, willing a solution to present itself.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't see the older man walking in my direction and I plowed right into him. Hard. We both hit the ground, groaning, and I heard a crunch from my duffle bag.

"Jesus, kid! Watch where you're going!" he winced and slowly got up. He looked pissed, but after a longer glance at me his face softened and he held out a hand to help me up. I took it and stood.

"Sorry, man. I didn't see you," I muttered. I reached for my duffle bag. That crunch could only have been one thing. The man dusted himself off and peered at me as I dug through my bag and finally pulled out the jewelry box. The lid had in fact gotten crushed in the fall and one of the hinges was now dangerously close to falling off completely. Damnit. At least the latch was still closed.

"Well, isn't that a pretty little bauble. You're not planning to propose to me are ya? You didn't hurt me that bad," He chuckled.

"No, I....this was my moms. I think I broke it," I mumbled.

Something in my expression must have made this guy pity me because then he said "Well don't you fret. Mr. Andrews over at the pawn shop is a miracle worker with restoring things like this. He fixed my wife's heirloom necklace after she took a nasty spill at the country club. Looks good as new. Better in fact. I'm sure he could help you out."

My eyes lit up. Pawn Shop! Bingo. "Thanks, sir. Hey, where is that pawn shop?"

"Just over on Bleaker. A few blocks that way." He said smiling, clearly happy to have helped.

"Thanks, again!" I said, and hurried off in that direction. Okay, the Pawn Shop. I slowed my pace. I was not looking forward to auctioning off the only items I had left of my mom's legacy. I wasn't even entirely sure what all was in the jewelry box. I paused near a bus stop bench and sat down for a moment. I checked the time. 3:40pm. Stores would probably be closing in the next hour or so and I still needed to find a place to crash tonight. I pulled out the jewelry box again, careful not to jostle the delicate hinge.

The front of the box had an eyehook hinge and I pushed the hook upwards and lifted the top of the box gently. I'm not sure what I was hoping for, but I felt a little let down. Inside was a pair of gold earrings that didn't look like anything special, a pearl necklace that I remembered my mom wearing way back when she had social circles that might warrant wearing such a thing, and her old wedding ring. Shit. I wanted to look at this stuff and maybe pick an item to keep as a token of her, but none of this stuff felt right. The earrings looked cheap and I couldn't remember her ever wearing them. I didn't know what I would do with a pearl necklace, and my dad was a fucking asshole. I didn't want a memory of her to be tied to a memory of him in the form of her wedding ring. I shut the box and clasped it again, sighing. It was kind of an interesting-looking box, and I thought back to all the times my mom stood in front of it, peering into its contents thoughtfully. Happier times. Screw the jewelry. I'll keep the box and display it on my own dresser, wherever that might end up being. Resolved, I got up and started again towards the pawn shop.

Mr. Andrews turned out to be the picture-perfect vision of a sweet old man. His pawn shop, he explained, didn't get much action but he made a decent living restoring all sorts of little trinkets and jewelry. After introducing myself with a fake name (can't be too careful), I told him I was passing through and was just looking to make a few bucks off some old jewelry. He welcomed me into his little shop that looked more like a prop-shop than a pawn shop. All kinds of crazy shit lined the walls. A samurai sword, a knights armor, stones with what looked like hieroglyphics on it. Creepy dolls, taxidermy, and a shit load of dusty old books. It was a real freak show of random junk piled everywhere.

I looked back at him, uncertain. Suddenly this guy didn't seem so trustworthy. He seemed a little crazy. He adjusted his enormous bifocals that made his eyes look like they were bugging out. "Well, let's have a look, son", he said, while laying out a piece of cloth on a counter and readying what looked like incredibly delicate tools. I guess that's how he'll figure out how much the jewelry is worth. I shrugged. I didn't want to show him everything at once, so I started with the wedding ring.

He hesitantly took the ring from my hand and looked at me quizzically. "I know what you're thinking, but its not stolen. It was my mother's. She...um, just recently passed away." I said quietly.

"Hmmph." Was all Mr. Andrews said, but he seemed to believe me. He poked and prodded at the ring with a couple of tools and finally put it under what looked like an antique version of the microscope I would use in my Biology class.

"Well, you're not going to be stunning too many folks with this ring. The gem is really just a chip, and the gold is pretty worn. But I'd give you....$75 for this piece". Ouch, I thought. I knew my mom didn't have any super valuable jewelry so I should've expected that but it was still a gut punch. How the hell was I was going to support myself long enough to get myself somewhere safe and start over? I tamped down the panic I was starting to feel and tried to keep my face neutral.

"Yeah, $75 seems fair. And how about these two pieces?" I placed the earrings and the necklace down on his inspection cloth. He proceeded to go through his inspection process with each item. Poking, squinting, and making harrumphing noises. He spent quite a long time looking at the necklace and even pulled out a couple of reference books.

"I hate to tell you this, son, but these earrings are no better than fool's gold. Worthless, I'm afraid. I see it all the time. Plenty of fake gold making its way through my shop," He looked up from his glasses apologetically. I couldn't help it. My face fell in disappointment and I plucked the worthless earrings off the counter.

"Don't despair yet! You've got yourself something special with this necklace. A beautiful, classic piece you've got here," he said, rolling the necklace around in his wrinkled old fingers. I raised my eyebrows and leaned forward, willing him to go on.

"I know quite a bit about pearls and these here are natural pearls that were cultivated in saltwater in the South Sea. Quite rare, actually. A necklace like this, in perfect condition, could go for thousands," He murmured with wide eyes.

Jackpot! I thought with glee, and smiled broadly. But I had to wonder where mom got this necklace. A relic from our past life, where money was easy to come by and an expensive necklace was just one of many accessories, maybe? Mr. Andrew's interrupted my pondering.

"Not so fast, kiddo. I said in perfect condition. And this puppy has seen better days. Given its condition and the size of the pearls, I'll give you $800," he said looking over the tops of his glasses at me.

Shit. I stared at him and shuffled back and forth nervously from foot to foot. I don't know how to barter. I've only seen this kind of thing in the movies. I couldn't tell if this sweet old man was leveling with me, or if he saw a hoodlum trying to make a living selling stolen jewelry and figured he might as well short change me on a rare, valuable pearl necklace. I'd probably never know, so I decided to try to make the most reasonable deal I could think of.

"I'll tell you what. I have this jewelry box that has a broken hinge that I need fixed. Fix that for free, and make it $1,000 for the necklace, and you've got yourself a deal," I took the jewelry box and placed it on the counter.

Mr. Andrews did a double take of the box and his eyes grew wide. "A Portale Box," he whispered.

"What's a Portale Box? Is that the brand?" I said confused. Mr. Andrews had picked up the box delicately, reverently, and was examining it like it was that diamond necklace from the Titanic movie or something.

"No...Portale...as in Portal. See these etchings? These are etchings done by an ancient secret society from Italy called Mistero. The mythology says this sect had harnessed the power to use portals to other dimensions using alchemy." Mr. Andrews said with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"Huh. Crazy. So they'd what...open the box and step inside?" I joked.

"As the legend tells it, they would simply need to place a token, a memento of the time, place or dimension that they hoped to go to and then they would fasten the box closed and say portami dove sogno, which loosely means take me to the place I dream of. When they opened it again, they would have been transported to their desired location. My god, do you have any idea how rare this trinket is?" Mr. Andrews said excitedly.

"Rare...and probably valuable, right?" I swiped the box from his hands. Mr. Andrews startled and reached for the box again, but I held it behind my back. There was no way I was going to let this old man take this box from me. His hungry eyes told me everything I needed to know. This thing was worth something big.

"Please, son, I will buy it from you. Name your price." Mr. Andrews said, desperately.

I furrowed my brows. "Wait, you don't actually believe this might work, do you?" I snorted. Now I was just starting to feel bad. This sad old man really believed this crappy old jewelry box was some sort of time traveling device and was willing to give me god knows how much money for it? I couldn't let him believe that. It was just too cruel. How much money had this guy spent on junk that he thought had some kind of mystical power? I needed money, but I'm not a monster. Plus, I was keeping this box. I didn't care what it might be worth. Its the one thing I'll have left of my mom. But the way he stared at me, nearly drooling, told me it wasn't going to be easy for me to walk out of this shop with this box unfazed.

I'll just have to prove to him this legend is bogus, I thought. I walked over to his wall of junk and scanned it for something I could use. A copy of The Lord of the Rings caught my eye. I held it up to Mr. Andrews.

"What are you doing?" He said apprehensively. His eyes frantically went from the book to the box.

"Proving to you that this is just a dumb box that happens to have a cool myth behind it," I tore a page out of the Lord of the Rings book, and folded it into a small square.

"THAT WAS A FIRST EDITION!" Mr. Andrews screamed.

"Oh shit, my bad! Look, let me just show you this real quick, and then I'll get out of your shop. You're telling me that if I put this paper in the box and latch it, say the magic words, and open the box, that I'll open my eyes in Mordor or a hobbit hole or some such crazy place?" Mr. Andrews nodded but he didn't take his eye off of the piece of paper.

I placed the piece of paper in the box and looked at Mr. Andrews. He looked conflicted. A bit scared, a bit intrigued. I knew he wanted me to do this, though, because he whispered "Portami dove sogno".

I closed the box and said, if a bit sarcastically, "Portami dove sogno," and then re-opened the box.

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Mr. Andrews stared at the empty space that used to hold the peculiar young man. A strange metallic taste filled his mouth and he began to hyperventilate. It was real. It was all real. Which means....the boy. He...was in another dimension right now?! Some dimension where the Lord of the Rings universe existed? Mr. Andrews shuffled slowly to the spot and stood there, dumbfounded. Suddenly, an electric energy started growing around him until it was so thick he felt he could reach out and grab it. He slowly backed away from the spot, head wheeling in all directions to see what would happen next.

Suddenly, the electric currents made a snapping noise and then the boy was just...there again. The metallic flavor in his mouth had become so bitter Mr. Andrews had to spit.

"You....you....you...," sputtered Mr. Andrews.

The boy walked up to him slowly and calmly. He looked...different. Dirtier, and he had a slight beard that he didn't have just a moment ago. Impossible!

"Mr. Andrews...I can't explain it...but it works. I don't have much time, but I had to come back here and thank you for everything. I never would have known how to use the box if it weren't for you." Mr. Andrews noticed then that the boys arms held a rustic looking crate with burlap in it.

"Oh yeah, this," the boy nodded to the crate in his arms. "I wasn't sure if I could bring anything back with me, but I needed to test the theory. I'm a bit of a science enthusiast after all. So to test my hypothesis I brought you a little something as a thank you," he said. Mr. Andrews just stared at him, mouth agape, in shock.

"I thought to myself, what kind of souvenir do you get a guy who has all kinds of crazy shit already? And from Middle Earth, no less! Its not like they have souvenir shops!" he laughed. "But then it came to me. Dragon eggs! It doesn't get crazier than that. It took me a bit to hunt them down, but I think you're going to be stoked!" He set the crate down on the ground near Mr. Andrews feet, and Mr. Andrews peered underneath the burlap. There, nestled carefully, were 6 enormous eggs. One of them jiggled slightly.

Mr. Andrews was frozen in place. Mute. He watched the boy go over to the counter and fetch the pearl necklace.

"Oh, yeah. I had to come back and grab this, too. I wish I could stay and talk more, but I have to go get my mom," the boy placed the pearl necklace in the box, closed it, muttered the incantation, and was gone. He left behind the invisible metallic cloud, a stunned Mr. Andrews, and 6 perfect dragon eggs.