Ceramic Stylings (Revised)

Sharon couldn't remember how long she had been watching Antiques Roadshow or how she even ended up on the channel. She was mesmerized by the multitude of people bringing their finds to appraisers, most coming out of it with the realization of being thousands of dollars richer. There was an old creaky dresser that was bought for twenty five dollars and worth two thousand because it was made in the 1920s by a rare furniture maker that made only twenty of that model. There was a man who spent two dollars on a box of coins and found out that one of them was worth five hundred because of an imperfection in its ridge.

Days later, the show still stayed with her. The promise of accidental wealth was too great a temptation. Sharon became one of the treasure-finding hopeful. She looked through her attic, prowled through garage and yard sales. Most people at the sales were just sniffing out deals or curious passersby, but she recognized the ones who were like herself. They methodically perused paintings, tea sets, plates, furniture, and anything else that looked old. They all looked like they were researching for investments. Some even brought notepads and calculators.

Even as a novice, most yard and garage sale items didn't pass her scrutiny. They were generally trivial knick-knacks that had no value other than sentimental. Sharon was about to give up when she happened upon one sale that was organized by a man who was clearing out the house of his recently deceased grandmother. A pair of glossy white ceramic kittens caught her eye in the middle of tables and tables of the old woman's lifetime of possessions.

The grandson came over when he saw her looking at the figurines.

"My grandma had those for as long as I can remember."

"They're beautiful," said Sharon.

"All this can be hard to part with, but I need to move them all pretty fast. I can give you a good price for that."

"I don't know. I'm really just looking."

"I can give them to you for ten. She used to collect anything and everything as you can see. You know, you might be able to get more for them later. I just don't have the time to check each one. It would take me well over a year."

"They do look pretty nice."

"Well, in her day, she used take anything she could get. Even if it was in horrible condition, she would take it and clean it up, refurbish it. She was always the relentless optimist," he said, smiling at the memory.

The cats were the most promising pieces Sharon had seen so far. She still didn't know what to make of them, but she haggled for a lower price and hoped that they might be worth something more down the line.

She made her purchase just in time for the Roadshow's stop in town. The event was swarming with people waiting for their appraisals, ready for the scrutiny. Some chattered excitedly to one another, describing their family treasures and bargain shopping gems. Some guarded their prized possessions closely. One woman in particular stared at Sharon suspiciously and clutched her rabbit etched plates to her chest, as if she would snatch them away.

It was four hours before she was seen and it wasn't in front of a camera. The appraiser had a bushy mustache that twitched when he spoke and thick brown glasses framing tired eyes.

"What do we have here today?"

Sharon presented the ceramic kittens.

"I see..." said the man, holding the white ceramic figurines in the air. He turned them this way and that, examining them with great care.

"May I ask how much you paid for these?"

"Five dollars," Sharon replied, her anticipation rising. Would she be one of the lucky ones? How much would they be worth? A hundred? Six thousand?

"Mm hmm, mm hmm. Would you be surprised to find out that these were made in China?"

"Oh really?" She was getting more excited now. She had thought she recognized an Asian influence in the design. Would that increase their value?

"And when would you guess that these were produced?"

"Well," she said, doing a little mental arithmetic, estimating the grandson's age and how old the cats had to be if they belonged to his grandmother. "The thirties maybe? "

"Not quite," the appraiser said. "It's probably closer to the nineties."

"1890s?" she said with a catch in her voice. She had secretly hoped they were older. She wondered what kind of history they had, what hands had touched them.

"No." There was a sense of finality in his voice.

She looked at him with a puzzled expression, so he flipped over one of the cats and showed her its white bottom that lacked the clean glossy finish the rest of the figurine possessed. He scratched the center with a fingernail. White pieces that might have been paint or correction fluid started flaking off to reveal three words: Made In China.