I admit, it was a Saturday for hammocks. The sky was low, dense. It shone blue and clouds sat about, full and sleepy, tufted fingers. I shook out an old red table cloth on the fat grass, smoothed its edges and carefully placed beloved books in neat stacks according to author.
Margaret Atwood. David Sedaris. Stephen King and a few odds and ends. A good book by Allegra Goodman, Hypocrite In a Pouffy White Dress by Jane Gilman. I couldn’t wait for folks to see the good books I’ve read. There was also the Kadinsky print and some decorative ceramic tiles- Fancy Coffee, Kava Java, Best Blend. My tin clock. I liked these things in my home. Before. They don’t belong anymore. Maybe I should lay myself out on the blanket:
hardworking female, ocd, housebroken- $5.00 o.b.o
People walked by, checking out the children’s chapter books, the ugly surf board handsoap dispenser my husband bought when we first got to Oregon, the big wooden art piece I wanted to move to our room but after a two minute discussion, decided to sell. More money for a family excursion. Okay.
I sat on a chair with my cigarette, coffee, a copy of The Grand Inquisitor, and waited. In my deepest self, or maybe not so deep, I dreaded anyone asking the price of an item. I don’t do well with strangers. I am self conscious and find it excruciating to look them in the eye. They might see exactly how horrible the experience of them is for me all in my eyes. Every time someone paused in front of my lovely red cloth with our stuff upon it, I read my book harder and willed them not to say any greeting.
Mine came out stringy and forlorn. I shook my inner head at myself. I don’t wanna talk, I’m letting you know.
I sold one book. The Robber Bride, Atwood. I liked the characters but the story was disappointing, considering it is an Atwood I tell the customer, looking at the book instead of her face. I was sad, watching it walk away in some other woman’s hand.
The girls ran back and forth between our yard and others, checking to see if their merchandise moved. They’d put out some old books as well as gently used toys. I gave them their quarters and dollars and the took off to spend it as soon as the cool coins hit their hot palms. The younger of the two came back with a cowboy hat. I smiled at her. She did look cute but a cowboy hat? I found this scary.
It was slow. I walked over to my neighbor’s wares. Many pink, ruffled, ribboned baby clothes were folded neatly on the grass. Very sweet looking items. Dangerous things so I walked back.
When sitting under a beautiful sky in a beautiful town with your ugly, self absorbed self, time passes slowly and you feel weak and sleepy with it all. The walksers-by thinned out. I, with my trembling “thank you”, sold the wooden piece, the coffee tiles and clock, beaded wall sconces and a couple of DVDs. Then I was thinned out.
I gathered my books up first, put them back into my book shelf; returned the unsold to our storage closet. I looked at the items and felt sorry for them, unwanted here. Like me, everywhere.
(copyright 2007)
07.21-22.07
I really like the opening line—it captures a mood, and then you take that mood and subtly craft it throughout the story. Very nice.
This reminds me of a garage sale from when I was a boy, when my brother made fun of me until I put my favorite Voltron action figure up for sale because I was too old for it. When someone bought it, I started to cry, and hit my brother, even though I was the one who sold it.
Ahh, the joys of childhood.
That’s funny.
The power of siblings! But it felt so like they made us do things all the time, didn’t it?
And now my girls explain to me how the other “makes them” do this crazy thing or that naughty thing.
Sheesh, i hear adults saying their spouse or co-worker made them do silly crap.
Thanks for reading.
you have such a gift for writing descriptive feelings. i read and feel, too. am pulled. pushed. empathically tired. ready for a few fingers of single malt.
the cowboy hat is the perfect attire for your next john_wayne_movie_culture_fest.
Ah, yes, John Wayne. The pinnacle of high art.
That thoughtful lady was disappointed that we did not watch Donovan’s Reef in its entirety.
She probably thinks we’re snobs and raggamuffinish. And i tried. Maybe i am. There aren’t many movies i enjoy out there.
Hi C – hey you can’t get rid of that David Sedaris. He’s such a funny fag! err…queer…uhmmm homosexual. Whatever.
C – Where have you submitted your work lately? Do you have a writers marketplace? Have you done all of that?
peace,
and…such a beautiful opening paragraph.
P
He is a funny writer is what i think you meant, yes? :0
Anyway, i have not submitted for quite some time due to fear. In the past i’ve submitted a lot of work and’ve been rejected often. i had to take a break or quit altogether.
Clancyjane has helped me in that respect, introducing me to the Left Bank Review, encouraging me, a balm to my head.
We’ll see.
~christine
I, like you – don’t like to talk to strangers, especially when they are pawing through my stuff. Despite the fact that I am selling it, it never stops being mine. I find it easier to drive it to the thrift shop and let them do the retailing.
Your description of the slowness of the time passing and gathering up that which didn’t sell, was painfully reminiscent of many past yard sales of my own. Great job.
WC
Thank you.
It is difficult for me to get rid of things, nut i also know that i can’t keep everything.
Still…
~christine