Thomas hadn’t expected to be alive when the town’s time capsule was opened.
He had no reason to. He had been a teenager when it was buried back in 1921. And yet here he stood, hiding in the crowd, looking pretty good for over a hundred if he did say so himself: Lean and fit, a head full of dark brown, almost black hair, not looking a day over thirty.
At least, that was when he thought he stopped aging. He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t realize it was happening at first, like the frog in a hot bath, not even realizing it was boiling to death.
#
The first time he actually noticed it was when his wife started getting gray hair.
It was the mid-1950s, they had been together since the second World War ended, their oldest in high school, youngest is middle school. He was about to leave for work, walking back into their bedroom saying, “Honey, I’m about to head out—” That was when he saw her in the mirror, holding something in her hand, “Mabel?”
“I found a gray hair.” Mabel said, not taking her eyes off the mirror.
Surprised and bit a relived that was all it was, Thomas sputtered, “What?”
“Look,” Mabel said, turning around, hands pressed against a strawberry blonde scalp, one gray strand standing out against the bright-colored hair.
Thomas wanted to be sympathetic, he really did, but he just burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny! Mabel snapped.
“I’m sorry, honey, but for a minute you had me thinking something was really wrong.” Thomas explained, sincerely feeling bad for laughing, but at the same time unable to stop tittering.
“Says the man who hasn’t aged in the last decade.” Mabel countered, “Seriously, Thomas, look at you.” She squinted. “I really think you haven’t aged since you turned thirty.”
Thomas glanced in the mirror and realized that, yes, Mabel was right. For all appearances, he looked like he just turned thirty, even though by now he was pushing the big four o. “Hmm.” He mused, shrugging it off and giving his wife a kiss on the cheek. “I’d love to talk more but I gotta go. Love you.”
#
The next time they noticed it, really noticed it, they decided to move.
It was 1975, they were in their seventies themselves, and their oldest son, Alexander had just got married. They loved his young bride, but they didn’t know her family that well. Vanessa decided to rectify that at the reception, bringing them over. “Mom, Dad, this is Alex’s mother Mabel, and his father, Thomas.”
“Father?” Her mother questioned, “I would think more like older brother.”
The couple looked at each other. Mabel was wrinkling, her hair gray and white but Thomas still looked as he did they day she found the first gray hair.
“Just aging well, I guess.” Thomas brushed it off sheepishly.
#
“Something’s not right.” Mabel said, sitting at the table that night with a lukewarm cup of coffee in her hands. She always did that, during a crisis. Sit down with coffee. She told him once it helped her think. “You know this isn’t normal. So do I have. Have for some time, just didn’t want to say it.”
“I know.” Thomas groaned, leaned up against the counter, his favorite spot during a crisis, “It’s been at the back of my mind, for years, just like you said.” After a beat he added, “I don’t think we can stay here anymore.”
“I know.” Mabel agreed, “Today sealed it.”
All three of their kids were either off at college or out on their own. There was nothing keeping them there now anyway.
#
On their way out of town, they pulled up to the school yard where the time capsule had been placed, looking at the marker.
“I put something in the capsule, when they made it, you know.” Mabel told him, “A lace collar. I wasn’t sure what else to put in.”
“I put in a baseball.” Thomas told her, “I thought they might like that. Whoever digs it up.”
“I hope they do.” Mabel said.
“I hope they like your collar.” Thomas agreed before driving off one last time.
#
They searched for years. Doctors, scientists of all kinds, preachers, priest, even self-proclaimed mystics. Nothing worked. No matter what they tried, Thomas wouldn’t age.
And Mabel wouldn’t stop aging.
After fifty years of marriage, Thomas sat with her in the hospital, having lied to the doctors and saying he was her grandson.
“Tommy, I need you to promise me something.” Mabel wrapped.
“Anything, honey.” He said, grasping her hand.
“Don’t…be alone.” Mabel requested, “Fine someone else. I don’t know how, just, please find someone.”
Thomas didn’t know how he was going to do that ever. But he was going to honor his wife’s dying wish. “I will, honey. Somehow.”
#
That was two years ago, and so far, Thomas hadn’t managed to keep his promise. He was still figuring out how.
However, as long as he was figuring it out, there was something he wanted to do.
The current mayor, as portly graying man, opened the capsule, and started pulling out the items. As the crowds gathered round, Thomas snuck into it, his eyes landing on a collar of yellowed lace. Mabel’s lace. Carefully taking it, he turned to leave.
“Didn’t peg you for a thief.”
He turned around and saw a woman about the same age at him, long auburn hair rolling down her shoulders, dressed in a yellow and white floral sun dress.
“I know how this may look, but—” His eyes landed on a photo in her hand. A photo with a young woman who looked suspiciously like her. “You know, I think you’re here for the same reason I am.”
The woman looked down at the picture.
“The collar was my wife’s.” Thomas explained, “She died two years ago. I guess I just wanted a piece of her.”
After a beat, the young, apparently ageless woman asked, “What was her name?”
“Mabel.” Thomas answered.
“That was my sister name.” The woman said, “My name’s Abigail, by the way.”
“Well, Abigail, I’m Thomas.” He introduced himself, “And I think we have sometimes to talk about.”
Abigail smiled sadly. “What do you say we do it away from here?”