History and Wax - 1. Story

History and Wax

By Jfalkon

It was sunset in the town of Fantasmas California. The town was living up to its name, which means ghosts in Spanish. In the sweltering heat it felt as abandoned as a ghost town except for the permeating sound of air conditioners humming. People hid inside waiting for night to bring relief from the heat. Periodical a car would pull up to a motel and another overheated or lost soul would join the little town just off route fifteen somewhere between Hollywood and Las Vegas. In its present incarnation Fantasmas served as a rest stop but it had a long and varied history.

According to some of the residents, it had been around since the gold rush though no one could remember where the gold mine had been. The town’s people had tried their luck at farming once but the climate was not agreeable. Fantasmas would have probably been left to the tumbleweeds if the highway had not been built. Thanks to the traffic of weary gamblers and disoriented tourists the town still had a place on the map among the other little communities that eked out an existence along the country’s busy highways. The only difference between Fantasmas and countless other stops along the road was its museum.

The odd little landmark was called “History and Wax” and was run by a man named Brian Stevenson. The museum was first started by his grandfather who had displayed a large group of historical photographs on his parlor walls. It became a destination in a time when photographs were uncommon and ones that documented the civil war were rare as moon rocks. Brian’s grandfather started charging the locals a penny to see the collection to appease his wife who did not care for the traffic in her parlor. Slowly it turned into a business. After a few years a small bronze statue of Abe Lincoln was added. It was not a good likeness but it was recognizable. A few years later a wax figure of Ben Franklin was donated by an artist who worked in wax and had been impressed by the collection while passing through town. Franklin was slightly less believable than Lincoln but unlike Lincoln who fit on a table, Franklin was full size.

Unfortunately in those days there was no air conditioning so Ben Franklin spent his summers in the basement where it was cool enough for wax not to soften and run. Even there ice sometimes had to be brought in to prevent the inconveniently soft wax from melting. The dark cool location seemed to only raise people’s curiosity and so the wax statue was a success. Shortly after, a pair of figures was commissioned to represent Lewis and Clark. Within a few years the basement was becoming crowded and grandfather Stevenson was on the look out for a new location. The photos and figures needed a home of their own.

By the time Brian’s father took over the business it occupied the entirety of an old house. The first floor was dedicated to photos and paintings. The basement was populated with the beloved wax figures. Brian would go to the museum with his father on the weekends and listen to his father’s stories. He would tell Brian about how his grandfather had started the strange business and how it almost closed during the great depression and then was revived as half tourist attraction half general store. Brian learned that it had been host to traveling medicine shows, musicians, and performers. His favorite stories were about the characters captured in wax. When Brian was a child most of the figures were from the old west and Brian loved hearing about Billy the Kid, Buffalo Bill, and other icons of the old west. His favorite part of the story was the last line where the hero would ride off into the sunset.

When he got older Brian helped run the convenience store that now helped keep the business viable. Soon he added his own touch to the place. He talked his father into getting a figure of Marlin Monroe. His father had not liked the idea but he eventually gave in. To Brian’s delight she became a favorite of visitors. Soon there was a branch of the museum dedicated to more modern exhibits. Marlin was eventually joined by, among others, Elvis Presley, John F. Kennedy, and Richard Nixon. All of them were made by the descendants of the craftsman who had given them Ben Franklin. The exhibits expanded more freely onto the ground floor after an air-conditioning unit was added.

It was always tricky attracting visitors in a small town. History and Wax was popular with school groups and tourists but there were times when Brian’s father had to take a second job to pay the bills but the difficult times always passed. Brian slowly took over the operation after his father became sick with cancer. Even with the convenience store, the museum was barely making enough money to pay for medicines and Brian was torn between doing extra jobs and spending time with his father. Eventually he packed the wax figures into the basement and closed History and Wax for several years. When his father passed way and Brian decided to open the museum again as a tribute to him.

Just as things seemed to be looking up, Brian’s mother died suddenly of a stroke. Brian spent hours in the museum even after closing time. It seemed like the only place he could find comfort. During these hard times Brian met Jimmy who became the love of his life and lifted him out of his depression. They ran the museum together for five years. Jimmy worked on the weekends and Brian took over during the week when Jimmy was working as the manager at the local grocery mart. They were not rich but they were making ends meet and that was enough to make them happy. Then the unimaginable happened. Jimmy suffered a massive heart attack and died.

A year later Brian stood by a window watching the sun set. He would soon close the museum for the day. He hated closing time. The museum was all he had left and he hated to leave it for the loneliness of his home. In a way the building with its wax figures was his home. He loved the wax figures and he forgave them for not being more popular during a bad economy and for their imperfect resemblance to the people they represented. They were like relatives whose faults one learns to overlook because they are always there when one needed company or help. Looking into their glass eyes he could almost hear Jimmy telling him how much he loved him, as if the wax figures remembered the past. When he looked at their smooth faces he could almost hear his father ending one of his stories, “…and so they took the stolen gold and rode off into the sunset.”

Reluctantly Brian locked the door leaving the air conditioning on to keep the wax cool during the sweltering night. It was after sunset and still ninety-five degrees with clouds gathering overhead to seal in the heat. Brian sighed knowing that the electric bill would be high this month. Taking a final look at the exhibits he closed the door and turned the key in the lock. Then he turned and began to walk down the street while the familiar emptiness settled over him. He walked towards the setting sun wondering what it would feel like to ride away victorious after robbing a bank or winning a gunfight.

After a quiet dinner Brian took a sleeping pill and went to bed early. He was not an early riser and he was not an insomniac. He only took the pills to fall asleep so he could avoid having to look at his empty home. As he fell into dreamless unconsciousness, his wax figures stood motionless in the building a few blocks away. Their deaf ears did not hear the labored breathing of the old air conditioner. It worked with all its strength to keep the wax figures cool until it could not continue and its old weary parts ground to a stop.

A few hours later Brian awoke from his drug induced stupor and took another dose of the drug that kept him asleep. When he woke up late the following morning it was already hot. The night had not brought more than a few degrees of relief. It took Brian a while to realize that he was late to open the museum. The sleeping pills had made him to groggy and he decided not to open the museum until the afternoon. No one had scheduled a tour for the morning so Brian felt partly justified taking some time off though he knew the convenience store would lose money. He spent most of the morning drinking coffee and going about his morning rituals in sleepy slow motion.

When he was finally in a state to go back to work he took the long hot walk to History and Wax. As he opened the door he knew immediately that something was wrong. He froze in place and his jaw dropped as tried to grasp the horror that had taken place in the night. Before him the scene was as surreal as a Picasso painting.

The air conditioner had died in the night and the wax had been allowed to get warm. Brian slowly walked through the museum like the lone survivor of a nuclear holocaust. Around him the wax celebrities lay on the floor or stood drooping like ghouls with their faces half melted. Some had lost limbs others were missing eyes. Their faces had stretched in a sickening parody of human aging. Some had grown long fingers like claws and others had monstrous turkey necks and jowls. Even Ben Franklin had lost his calm smile to a molten grimace. Elvis wept tears of wax as his hands lay on the floor and the useless guitar slowly sunk into his melting shoulder. Marlin Monroe stood blind with her eyes before her on the floor. Her legs had sagged under her weight making her look like a bowlegged old woman.

They all seemed to look at him but he could not read their expressions. Were they angry at him for leaving them to melt? Where they pleading for help? He was not sure but the guilt he felt was almost too much to bear. They had been so well taken care of for so long by several generations and now they were dying a second slow death in wax. Not knowing what to do Brian stood there shaking in front of the disfigured Ben Franklin. As he saw another bead of wax roll down the patriarch’s elongated hands he knew he had to do something.

He tried to start the air conditioner. It would not start and he hated himself for not getting a new one. He called the family who had made the figures hoping that they could be repaired but was told that the only way to deal with them was to melt them and start over. He thanked the man on the other end and hung up the phone. His face contorted as he thought of melting down the remains of his little world. He went from character to character mourning them and begging for forgiveness. He knew that his actions were insane and that the people he was talking to were not real but they were all he had. He spent the rest of the day with them trying to comfort them as they slowly softened and drooped and lost their identities.

The day ended and the light began to fade as the sun sank nearer the horizon. Brian knew that his figures could be picked up, melted, and remolded but he felt that some part of him had melted with them. Something inside him had been coming apart for years. With every death and heartbreak he had softened and drooped more. In the whole waxen mess he was the only one beyond repair. Slowly he got up off the floor and began to walk towards the door with tears streaming down his face. He almost stepped on a wax hand that had fallen off one of the figures. He picked it up and pressed it to his chest as he walked out the door and down the street. He cradled it like a tiny baby until he got to his garage. Then he placed it on the passenger’s seat and got into the car.

He left Fantasmas and drove towards the glow of the setting sun. He thought of the stories his father used to tell and realized what it was like to ride of into the sunset. For some it was a sign of victory but most were just riding away because they had nowhere else to go. They followed the setting sun though it hurt their eyes hoping that it would lead them someplace better. Brian followed the example of those before him. He looked over at the passengers seat as he realized that all he had left in the world was history and a small piece of wax.

© 2009 Jfalkon

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