Weird. Sometimes I get a distinct sensory trigger like a scent or a sound. I used to smell marijuana when none was present. Flashbacks. Sometimes I’d see someone in a crowd and recognize that individual from the past, however the memory was impossible because that person would have to be at least thirty years older and more bent over. Cripes! We must have twins in every community. I see many old shipmates walking the sidewalks and they haven’t aged a day. That’s kind of what this story illustrates. More often than not the sensory trigger stays a confounding occurrence with no solution; no relief. I hope you enjoy this tale. Much of it, o.k., all of it is true. Except for the parts that aren’t. Peace out.
EXTRA SENSORY PERCEPTION
Charles caught a whiff, a ghostly aroma from some branch of the past, a smell that connected all the brain cells but the one that was needed to identify it. He didn’t move except for his eyes. His gaze turned toward the open window that let in light and air and, perhaps, this familiar scent he couldn’t name. He then moved his body a little to turn and test the air but the only smells left to him were those he all ready knew in this little apartment. He smelt the aroma of coffee and toast and the humidity from outside his window.
Charles gave a mental shrug and shifted his focus to the sheets of paper lying on his desk; an effort to describe the conditions of the state prison he inspected yesterday. He’d found the facility’s material conditions deplorable. There it was again…faint. It was a familiar but still unidentified smell; pleasant and comforting and, perhaps, hedonistic. He could almost put himself in the place from whence the mystery emanated. All the visionary connections were too vague still. The closest he could come to a connection for this slippery scent was a humidor or a pipe tobacco pouch. Egad! That would be ages ago! A visit to Turkey in the early sixties; that picture certainly drew a few memories.
Meerschaum pipes and all the accouterments for such a luxury. A few apple slices placed in the tobacco to give it moisture and aroma and the constant fondling of the white clay of the pipe. Handling the pipe imparted an oil to the clay bowl that turned it a rich dark brown. So he was told anyway. Wow! Talk about flashbacks! That must be it. Mystery solved.
The whiff Charles had experienced was a flashback to nearly sixty years before when he was globe trotting with a cover of being a peacenik. He’d worked for the State Department and the Central Intelligence Agency for a few months and in Izmir there was a market he needed to get familiar with. He found a youth hostel near the city center and getting to the market was a simple three block stroll. The meerschaum pipes caught his eye and Charles thought it would be cool to walk around with one sticking out of his mouth. Just the right touch to represent the tasteless side of American tourist activity. He also had a few Zippo lighters to swap for items at the market. Zippos were in extreme demand everywhere. On his trips to Ankara to visit his handler, an Air Force Colonel named O’Hara, he’d truck on over to the Post Exchange and buy a few more.
So, that was it…the meerschaum pipes and tobacco in the humidor. Memories. A cheap way to time travel. Charles turned in his chair and returned to the situation at the prison. He was trying to remember the name of the Associate Warden for Prisoner Welfare. Boucher, Bouchee, Boughter…
G. M. Goodwin
12 August 2016
Playing Fair and Being Kind 
This story brought to me a scent memory of the smell of my grandfather’s pipe. Sunset Rum tobacco.
Good. Sometimes the aroma is a mix and that further confuses the memory bank. The smells I get are way back in the darkness of my nose and long ago. Just a hint and then when I try to focus it is gone. Like a word that I hardly use or a name of an ex lover.