Despite a few chips and scratches, it was a magnificent bottle.

Handcrafted in France in the early 1900’s, the vintage perfume container had an elegant dome shape. On the sides, gilded birds and flowers were impressed and textured into the smooth glass. A stopper on top resembled a crystal ball, its small rubber cork held an air-tight seal. It stood 8 inches tall, 3 inches wide, and looked like royalty amongst the table of old junk. Somehow, the antique was now on the chopping block of a yard sale, it’s love story lost somewhere down the line.

A century earlier, the bottle was purchased in a small apothecary shop in a humble French village, 1911. The perfume itself, Guerlain eau de cologne Imperiale, wasn’t just a scent to Pierre La Beau. It was Lucia. The first time Pierre met her delicate soul, a breeze lifted the perfume’s scent off her neck and sucker punched his heart right in the breadbasket. Love at first sniff. Love at first all five of his senses, to be accurate. Her beauty was implausible, her lips were candy, and her voice: pure magic. The first kiss that followed seconds later was the most spontaneous thing the young woman had ever done, and she was rewarded handsomely for the risk. Lucia and Pierre fell into a deep, soaking wet love from that moment on.

At some point, Lucia embodied the perfume’s scent. Pierre couldn’t tell if Lucia smelled of the perfume, or if was the perfume that smelled of his one love. Sometimes when he held Lucia at night, his nose on her neck, he’d have to retreat outside to catch his breath. Early one morning, Lucia found Pierre sleeping on the doorstep, his heart taking a break from the unrelenting bliss of her essence.

Years later, the only thing that kept Pierre alive in the dark, soggy trenches was Lucia’s handkerchief.

She gave it to him before saying goodbye and giving him a kiss that shot through his heart like artillery. Shivering, starving, wounded, and lonely somewhere in the hell of Somme, Pierre closed his eyes and smelled the hanky. Once in a while it would transport him to the nook of Lucia’s neck as shots boomed overhead. The hope of reuniting with Lucia was the only reason he survived.

But when he finally returned home after the war, their small house was destroyed. In the wreckage, and in frantic tears, Pierre sorted through the rubble of his past life, half-hoping he’d find Lucia, half-hoping he wouldn’t. The only item Pierre recovered was a steel box containing their wedding pictures, some jewelry, and Lucia’s bottle of perfume.

Pierre never stopped loving her and he never stopped looking for her.

Even when he immigrated to the U.S years later. Around every street corner and inside every café window, his heart would flutter at the chance of seeing Lucia once more. The possibility of their love resuming was stronger than anything else he’d ever feel again. At the very end, Pierre mustered all the strength that remained in his frail body and grabbed the perfume bottle from the bedside table. With his trembling hand he uncorked it, and breathed in Lucia with his very last breath.

Greg Butler, wasn’t “in the market” for a decorative bottle.

But as he walked down the sidewalk early one Sunday, it sparkled in the morning light and called him onto the lawn. He inspected it in his clammy hands and turned it slowly in admiration. He uncorked the top and took a tentative smell. He leaned in closer, sniffed harder. At the very top of his inhale he detected a remnant of something sweet. Something distant, something beautiful.

The scent vanished in a Cuervo-flavored burp. Greg checked his pockets but all his money was squandered at Banana Joe’s Bar & Grill the night previous. The woman running the yard sale went back to the garage to get some more boxes. Some neighbors turned their backs to peruse some hand-me-downs. Greg tucked the antique inside his hoodie, put his head down, and tried to remember where he parked his Ford Escort. 

Greg wasn’t sure what to do with the bottle. Initially, he figured it’d be the perfect place to keep his weed, but the bottle’s mouth wasn’t wide enough. For the time being Greg put it over the fireplace mantle next to the other trophies; empty booze bottles and the house bong, “Gandalf.” But, it didn’t take long before Greg and his three roommates figured out a plan. They knew exactly how to put the gorgeous antique to use.

For the next thirteen months, the young men farted into it.

As the months went by the young men bottled no less than 450 units of flatulence into the ornate vessel. They took great care with the process, making sure to quickly cork the top before and after their respective offerings. One Saturday they corked 35-plus, a house record. Oh, how they howled that night. What once held the essence of a tender and passionate love, now contained a force far less enchanting, but perhaps just as powerful.

Soon the mighty effort came to its monumental conclusion. One evening, Greg’s buddy, Leo, was admiring the bottle on the mantle. Greg lied and said it was an antique of Cleopatra’s perfume. He said his uncle was an archaeologist, and that if you sniffed hard enough, you could actually smell one of the hottest rulers of ancient Egypt.  Leo, not much of a history guy, uncorked the bottle. He raised the antique to his nose, and with all his might, inhaled 493 and a half farts in one single go.

The potency was overwhelming and he instantly ralphed. The bottle twirled down to the unswept floor and exploded in a splash of Leo’s half-processed quarter-pounder, fries, and Dr. Pepper. Greg and his roommates lost all bodily control too, laughing harder than they ever had before. It was better than anything they had imagined in all of their nights of imagining. This, was one for the ages.

When the stomach-holding, giggling, tear-wiping and high-pitched re-telling of the story finally ended hours later, Greg and his roommates found themselves waxing poetic.

The beauty of it, they all agreed, was that they had invested an entire year of dedication into the project. The delayed gratification, that’s what made the payoff so good. Greg noted it was the best zero dollars he’d ever spent, and then he called for a toast to honor a moment that would bring the boys joy for the rest of their lives. The young men straightened up, Carl re-creased the collar on his Foot Looker uniform, and together they raised their MGD’s in respect. After a moment of pause, Greg continued with a heartfelt expression that summed it all up. “To time in a bottle,” he said. The boys grunted in reverence, and then nodded to each other in agreement. “To time in a bottle, indeed. To time in a bottle, indeed.”

CREDITS: VOICEOVER

Lucia by Gini Phillipe

CREDITS: MUSIC

Yves Montand: “Rue Saint-Vincent” (Rose blanche)

Jovica: “3 melancholic chord sequence at 60 BPM Embracer”

Mattleschuck: “Crime Mystery Roll”

Tristan_Lohengrin: “Introduction 01”

Nightlife999: “Spirit Cello”

Setuniman: “Etude”

Cadresounds: “Synthetic Space Drone"

Setuniman: “Aimless 1c87”

Goup-1: “124 BPM Club Loop”

ModulationStation: “Spy Music”

ispeakwaves: “Technology - Upbeat Loop"

robinhood76: “Laughter Male Spasmatic 1”

klavo1985: “ancient egypt music”

killbaybee: “Egyptian Ghost Singing”

foolboymedia:  “Arc of Suspense”

Cunningar0807: “Sad Violin (Reverbed)”