Dziadzia's String

In his hand, he held tightly onto the piece of string his grandfather gave him before the elder left.

“This will keep you safe from harm.”

“But grandpa, how? How will it work?”

The older man smiled and patted his grandson on top of the head. “It’s magical. It leads to the bell at the Pearly Gates. When you’re in harm, it will ring St. Peter’s bell.”

The lad looked at his grandfather and smiled, but his expression changed as ambulance men took him out of the house.
Andrzej knew this was the last time he would see his dzadzia.


He lay on the sand, looking up at his attackers.

“Give up the wallet, dude,” the surfer screamed. Two of his compatriots returned to kicking the teenager. “We told you to never come back. It’s our beach.”

The freshman rolled over and covered up, an attempt to block the kicks. He wanted this attack to end, wanted to return to his dorm room, and forget this ever happened.

“This will keep you safe from harm,” his grandfather’s words echoed in his mind. He slipped his hand into his left front pocket and slowly removed the brown piece of string out.

“What ya got there?” the dark eyed tough asked.

Andrzej shook his head as he heard a familiar song. “Grandpa’s polka,” he muttered.

The attack slowed. “What’s that?” a ruffian asked.

“Someone has their stereo up loud.”

The clarinets and accordion music became louder. The night’s darkness disappeared, replaced by day’s brilliance.

“Dude,” Andrzej heard one of them scream.

“Oh my God,” another shouted.

The song and light disappeared with an electric snap.

The college student stayed down, covered up for a moment before opening his eyes.

“Dzadzia didn’t lie,” he whispered.