The Ten Scents Store.(Kevin Hughes) I saw several older people go in the tiny shop. Most were well into their seventies. I thought, at first, it was a Pharmacy or Chemist shop. I was wrong.

From my perch on the little cast iron bench painted a dark green that made it look like it should be in a garden not placed on a pedestrian walk in the old part of town, I could see that the shop did a small but steady parade of customers. Almost all of them old. A few younger people walked it the shop too. They, almost without exception, looked sad, troubled, or disturbed when they entered the shop.

They came out with those soft smiles you see on the faces of people stepping back in time to a memory that made them glow. It made me wonder what was in that shop? So I left my perch to go find out.

On the old style door, with a stained glass window depicting a man sniffing a rose …and smiling…was a small sign:

“Welcome to the Ten Scents Store.”

I laughed at the pun. It must be a perfumery, or maybe a High End Cosmetics shop. It was neither. It was…in a word…Magic.

“May I help you?”

I never even saw the pleasant looking man with the tonsured crown of white curly hair, green velvet vest, and ruby red framed glasses perched on his nose. I heard him tho…and he startled me. So I blurted out the truth.

“No, I was just curious.


He smiled with a twinkle in his eyes and his voice:

“Aren’t we all, my friend? Aren’t we all?”

“What do you sell in here? I notice that many of the people are really…a…er…old, I mean older.”

He laughed. A gentle snort puffed out as he patted my shoulder.

“Yes they tend to be older. I sell Scents. Ten Scents for whatever it is worth to you.”

I stared. What kind of price scaling was that? How do you know what a smell is worth. He saw my puzzled look. Reaching over to the shelf behind me, a shelf filled with small vials in what had to be blown crystal glass containers. They were pretty. Very. Each had a small amount of different colored fluids inside making them reflect light like a diamond ring, or disco ball.

He handed me a small vial.

“Here, take the stopper out and wave it under your nose. Let the smell waft up…don’t wave it up, it might be to much. So just move it back and forth gently and tell me what you smell.”

I did just as he said.

I smiled. A huge smile. It brought me back to the birth of my first child. He was nine now, but the smell was that of a baby just a day or so out of the womb. I used to rock my son and put my nose to the soft peach fuzz on the top of his head and take deep sniffs. My wife caught me doing that and hugged me for a long while.

“I do the same thing, Honey. I Love that “new baby” smell.”

I wanted to take a couple more sniffs, but he put the stopper back in the bottle as I reluctantly handed the vial back to him.

“That is new Baby smell. Lots of Grandmothers and more than a few Grandfathers come in to order some for themselves.”

He handed me a different vial from a lower shelf.

“Here, I think you might like this one.”

I took one whiff. My whole body trembled. I almost cried out.

It smelled like my Mom! The tears fell as the memories of the only time she got to hold my baby fought their way to the front of my mind, and the top of my heart.

“Oh, I am so sorry for your loss. Usually that smell brings back good memories. Take another sniff.”

I did.

The Memories came. Me and Mom making chocolate no bake cookies in the kitchen when I was five. I got covered with flour…so she splashed some on her face and we played “Ghost” Chef for a good hour. When I got my first Straight A report card…she had it framed. When my High School Sweetheart dropped me the night before Prom. Mom bought a dress and went as my date. The memories poured in. I never even noticed when he softly put the stopper back in the bottle and placed it back on the shelf.

I pointed to a deep purple vial, almost indigo it was so dark.

“What’s in that one?”

“Open it, take a deep smell. A really deep full inhale. You’ll see…well…smell.”

He gave a wry grin to his bad joke. I took out the stopper, inhaled deeply and dropped the vial. Luckily he was expecting my reaction and caught the vial in mid air. Never even spilled a drop.

Have you ever smelled forgiveness? Real forgiveness? The kind that says : “Apology accepted, I still love you. Let’s move on. Want to grab a bite to eat and a movie”

It smelled like that and more. I not only smelled like I had the stink of guilt and shame removed from my life, but…I felt like taking that stink off of the people I felt ill about. I took another whiff. I needed to Forgive…me.

Of in the corner I saw a pink vial. It reminded me of being young and in love. I told him that.

“You are very perceptive young man. That is the smell of First love. It has a twinge of melancholy in it, but it packs a punch.”

I went and sniffed it.

A collage formed in my head: My hand resting on her thigh as she sat on her bike. One of her legs was holding her and the bike upright, the other rested lightly on the peddle. We chatted, both aware of the warmth of our skin. The two of us holding hands under the Afghan her mother had knitted for her when she was a baby. Her Mom looked over with a knowing smile. Her Dad with a look of tolerance and a hint of humor pretended he couldn’t see our hands weaving together.

A slow dance at the Christmas Ball. I could smell her hair. Her strong youthful sweet breath. A hint of the lavender soap she used lay a gentle sheet over the deeper smell of her Jasmine perfume. There were more memories too…and the smells were of youth, young love, and promise.

I handed it back. I wanted to buy a bottle of that one. And maybe the Baby’s Smell too. And of course the Wedding Scent vial …one for me…one for my wife.

He told me to take my time making my selections.

“Remember, it is Ten Scents you get. So choose wisely.”

I nodded. I saw a table with a couple dozen vials on it. It was surrounded by Old People, both male and female. They would take a vial, dab a bit on their wrist and take a whiff. Their eyes would widen. Sometimes, water would pool in their eyelids, not enough for a tear, but enough for a blessing.

“What is in those vials?”

He looked over his shoulder. He sagged just a bit.

“That’s the Widow’s table. Those vials have the odor of lost loves, the good times and the bad. The smell of grief softened with oil of time.”

I nodded.

I saw a sparkly vial surrounded by stuffed animals and toys. It drew me over like a magnet. I opened the stopper. I took a whiff and laughed.

It was the smell of innocent childhood. I was Davy Crocket on a banana bike. My best friend brought Peanut butter and Jelly sandwiches his Mom made. My Mom donated fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. We were off to meet Elizabeth (Lizzy to her friends like us) and her cousin Cheryl. Down to the river for a long summer’s day. We were children, just children. Nine years old. The confusion of puberty had not raised its head to mark any of us male, female, or unsure. We smelled like …children. Just children.

I got one of those too.

The Ten Scent Store. I would be back.

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