“What are you looking for?” the man in a stained shirt stepped from behind the counter. “We have plenty to choose from. Been here for going on forty years.”
Trevor saw something glittering in his green eyes. If this were a bit of Greek mythology, he would have equated the old man’s gaze to a crazed profit or peddler. Trevor thought it would be easy to equate the shopkeeper’s eye color and passion for selling strictly to avarice. He decided the leap too lazy to make.
He returned to looking around unsure what he really wanted. Given assignment in his composition class, Trevor thought it would be easy, but became much harder.
“I’ve got to find something from somewhere else,” Trevor said tugging his bottom lip. “It just can’t be from around here.”
“Very interesting.” As he said the words, the man’s head bobbed like some strange bird taking tentative steps on the loose sand of the beach. “You must be taking Professor Ballinger’s class this semester.”
Yeah, not the first person to come in here. You’re in the right spot and own the right store for all of us that got Ballinger.”
“You go where the fish are my dad used to always say. Can’t catch ‘em where they aren’t.” The old man’s face split into a wide and somewhat vacuous grin. “What did you think you’d like to use?”
“Use?” Trevor asked. “What do you mean by use?”
“You’re what…a sophomore? Maybe a junior?” The man stood there appraising him. “If you’ve got Ballinger, that means you’re pretty sharp. The sharp ones don’t want to just get something to write about.”
“They want something they can use to get a feeling for it,” Trevor finished. “Sounds like you’ve made that pitch a time or two.”
The shopkeeper gave a rough chuckle. “Guilty as charged. I’m not trying to be pushy. I just know what Ballinger wants. Comes from hearing the good and bad from those who tried getting on Ballinger’s good side.” He ran a wrinkled hand over his mostly bald head as though trying to flatten the already plastered down strands of hair trying to cover the vast real estate of his scalp. “You do what you want, young fella. I’m just trying to point you in the right direction. I’m not going to force you to go my way.”
Trevor suddenly felt a little bad. He was sure his roommate’s brother recommended the little shop crammed with odds and ends because it was the sort of thing Ballinger would have gone crazy for. Trevor understood that meant trusting the shop’s curator.
“I’m sorry about that,” he apologized sincerely. “I just didn’t want to spend too much.”
“I get it. I really do.” The old man leaned back on the counter like someone with younger bones and hips. “I’m not seeking to get rich off your single purchase. I want you to keep coming back.”
Trevor looked around at the dusty items towering on the shelves throughout the store. He could not imagine ever coming back in here for anything. He decided not to mention it lest the elderly shopkeeper change his mind about the gouging.
“I guess, Trevor started tentatively. “I’m looking for something small. If it is small, I can use it no matter where I am. Do you have anything…I don’t know. Useful?”
“You’re in the wrong place for that,” the old man said after issuing a wheezing laugh. “I got plenty of stuff, but not sure how much of it would be classified as useful. A better question is what do you think you can make a good story about. Ballinger likes a bit of history to the objects. She always says nothing ever just pops into existence from nowhere.”
Trevor spotted a tarnished brass kaleidoscope sitting next to an antique globe with list countries like Turkey and Newfoundland and Czechoslovakia. He spied old toys like Dark Star and a dirty Puppy Pony like his younger sister had.
As his eyes wandered, he felt the old man staring at him. His skin crawled a little. Trevor told himself it was his imagination amped up with a healthy dollop of the stranger danger his mom infected him with.
“I’ll tell you there’s a treasure trove of things that might catch your imagination along the back wall. I call it my collection if medical oddities.” The old man leaned in a little closer. “Some are really different. I find that things out of place and time are the ones that really give your mind a good jolt. Take a peek at them. I’ll be up here if you need me.”
“Sure thing.”
Trevor set off down the center aisle for the back. Knowing it was in his head, he breathed a little easier now that he was away from the man.
On the trip down, his eye snagged on a great many things. He feared what the seven-year-old him would have done in this place. His hands itched to pick up what looked like a beat-up leather map tube. He heard his younger self screaming about an old pirate map and buried treasure.
Ignoring the siren song of numerous items, Trevor reached the rear of the store. He thought the building could not be as vast as it seemed inside. He attributed the sensation to all the clutter.
He felt assaulted by a sensation of transportation by the oddities at the end of the store. His stomach flipped a few times seeing a skull with oversized canine teeth protruding from the top and bottom rows of teeth. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. He sought a manufacturer’s name figuring someone crafted it so realistically.
“What the?” Trevor asked not finding any seams or signature of a company. “How’s this possible.”
He ran his fingers over it feeling the strange texture. For the barest instant, Trevor wondered if this is just what a weathered skull would feel like. He resisted the desire to drop it to the ground and run out of the store at the possibility.
He swallowed hard taking a different tact with his investigation. Trevor decided if the skull was real then the teeth must be the put on. He could see the four teeth extending beyond the normal range. Trevor brought the jaw closer seeking any evidence of a fake fang replacing the real tooth. He found no such seam or bump. His mind reeled at the endlessly detailed work required to place the false tooth in the jaw before grinding it to an undetectable smoothness.
Finding no evidence to explain the wild skull, Trevor surrendered it back to the shelf promising to concentrate. He worked his way to the left of the center aisle. He tried not to acknowledge how nothing truly captured his mind like the skull. He kept telling himself it had to be fake. If he did that, Trevor thought sleep might actually come tonight instead of childhood fears of crazy things creeping out of the night to consume curious little children.
He turned back and passed the fanged skull to work to the right. He stopped a few times picking up a few of the other oddities. He kept throwing looks over his shoulder. He could not be sure, but he could have sworn he heard something like breathing behind him. Trevor pushed the idea aside.
Once in the opposite corner from the first one he investigated, Trevor noted the comingling of the medical items from the back wall and the pieces of machinery heading down the right-hand outer wall. He marveled at all the things there.
Trevor picked up a clockwork bunny with patchy grey fur and bright pink eye. He plucked the life-sized toy from the shelf. When the bunny’s legs gave a strange soft kick as though the final catch let go. Trevor, for the briefest second, thought the bunny took a labored breath while he held it. He looked in its flat pink eyes and started at what looked like a tear running down the thing’s cheek.
He rushed to return the suddenly frightening plaything to where it belonged. He could not shake the shivers running through his body accompanied by the sensation of being watched. Trevor glanced over his shoulder finding nothing there. He felt the silence in the store reminded him of the stillness of a graveyard.
“Everything alright,” the shopkeeper called in a cheery tone.
Shoving his heart back down from his throat where it jumped, Trevor answered, “No, I’m good.”
He wished for another customer in the little shop. Unnerved by everything, he rubbed his arms, trying to warm himself before returning to his task.
He scanned up and down the corner a few more times. On the next upstroke, Trevor spotted a battered leather case a little bigger than the palm of his hand. He reached for it avoiding the eerie bunny.
With a tight grip, Trevor brought the case down. He saw words had been stamped into the top. He guessed the voids had originally been filled with some sort of embossing like an old book or bible. Trevor could barely make out the faded words.
“See Clear,” he read softly peering at the smaller words underneath the title. “Best Glass Eyes Around.”
Trevor had heard of people with serious eye injuries filling the empty socket with some sort of replacement to help ease the discomfort of those around them. He considered mass produced glass eyes, as part of a marketing scheme, a bit crass.
Despite his mild distaste, Trevor noted the curiosity bubbling up inside him. He pressed the button on the front of the box. He lifted the lid to reveal a pair of bright emerald shaded eyes sitting within individual velvet lined compartments.
Trevor felt the weird sensation of being watched again. He looked behind him toward the front of the store. Unsurprisingly, he found nothing and no one there. He wondered if maybe the eyes in the box might help and let a low snicker escape his throat at the ludicrousness of the idea.
Trevor closed the box and headed back to the counter. He had made his choice for Professor Ballinger’s assignment. He felt sure he had something he could really work with.
Exiting the shelves, he saw the spindly shopkeeper waiting for him with a smile plastered on his face. Trevor tried to ignore the man’s too tight features.
“Did you find something?” the shopkeeper asked gleefully. “You look like someone who did. What is it?”
Wordlessly, Trevor put the case on the counter. He watched the man pick it up delicately like a dexterous rodent seeking to pilfer a bit of bait from a trap. He saw something in the man’s eyes again. He did not attribute the look to greed as the first time. He detected the nuances of excitement and expectation.
The man fixed his avian eyes on Trevor. The shopkeeper leaned forward over the counter. He drew so close as to almost touch Trevor’s nose with his own.
Trevor smelt something like old tacos, but a bit ranker on the man’s breath. He did his best not to recoil in front of him. Trevor felt a gag closing off the back of his throat.
“How much?” he asked.
“Hmmm, I’m not sure,” the older man said.
“Oh, so that’s how this is.” Trevor turned for the door. “I knew I should have just gone to Dollar General and been done with this. I don’t need something fancy or old to do this.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” the shopkeeper called. “I don’t mean I need a bunch of money.”
Trevor stopped with his hand on the door. He had the strange sensation of many eyes on him. He told himself it was only the creepy man behind the counter. He glanced back over his shoulder and into those eyes again. He swallowed back against the lump rising in his chest. He sensed an urgent need trying to get him out of the store.
The man smiled broadly which was not the most attractive presentation. “Listen, I know you’re a college student and that means that things can get a little tight from time to time. Do you know the reason I have my shop here?”
“Why?”
“Because I enjoy seeing everyone coming in from everywhere around the country.” His grin broadened. “Hell, even around the world now. I wouldn’t get that as much somewhere else. Not even in a big city like New York, Chicago-“
“Atlanta or LA,” Trevor interrupted and moved back to the counter. “I get it. So what do you want if you don’t want money?”
“I didn’t say I wanted money.” The old man motioned to the shop. “I can’t keep renting this place with just a good word and my winning smile.”
Trevor wondered if the shopkeeper realized the extent to which his pallid complexion and rictus grin caused him to appear like a reanimated corpse under the shop’s lights. He decided not to bring it up as it would not help his negotiating position. He glanced at the box.
“How much?”
“Twenty dollars and a story,” the old man said.
“A story? Why would you want that?”
“I told you. This place is full of things that have a story.” The shopkeeper now glanced down at the box too. “I’m sure this one has a long history behind it we may never fully know. But if I’m going to part with it, I would like to have one of yours in return.”
“What sort of story do you want?” Trevor asked. “It isn’t like I’ve lived the sort of story filled with crazy stories.”
Shaking his mostly bald head, he leaned in and said, “That’s a mistake, young man. A story doesn’t have to be crazy to be a good one.”
“But I thought you were looking for-“
“Why don’t you let me be the judge if the story is acceptable?” the old man asked.
“And just one?”
“Just the one.” He let his smile and voice drop into a conspirator’s tone. “It shouldn’t be hard for you. After all, you’re in Ballinger’s class. You wouldn’t have been accepted in there if you didn’t possess promise, would you?”
Trevor thought about the essay he submitted to be accepted by Professor Ballinger. Even he admitted it was some of his best writing. He had shared about the time he and his mother’s father had been out walking around the farm in the early morning and found a cow giving birth. Trevor had to assist his grandfather in the birthing of the calf.
After the first several grades came back lower than he wanted, Trevor still returned to Professor Ballinger’s comments on the story. He could see the flowing script as if she had been writing them with a calligraphy pen.
Bolstered by this memory, Trevor fished out two tens and handed it to the old man. He cleared his throat preparing to speak.
Before he could start, the old man raised his hand with its long, gnarled fingers. He appeared to have oversized knuckles separating the thin bones of the fingers.
“I’ll tell you that I don’t want something that happened to someone else you’re recounting. I’m not looking for someone else’s history.” He pointed the scarred index finger of his right hand at Trevor. “You’re the main character. Got it? And if you have something romantic, that’s what I’m in the mood for this evening.”
Trevor considered the request. “Romantic?”
“Mhm,” the old man said. “Something to warm this old heart and bones.”
Giving the matter a little more thought, Trevor discarded the original story he intended as his grandfather was once again at the forefront. He wondered what sort of thing he could tell the old man. He settled on a simple story that met his audience’s request.
“It was the eighth-grade dance,” Trevor started. “I never planned on going. In fact, I swore right up until I was in the car with my mom and our next door neighbor, Jenny Purvis, that I was not going.
“We got there and it started off like most of the dances I had attended. The boys were on the one wall and the girls on the other. I don’t know who was the first to make the move. Even now, I want to tell it was me. It would make for a better story. But I have no real proof of that.
“It doesn’t matter who was the first. Eventually, I took a step off the wall and walked over to a knot of girls. I don’t know what had gotten into me. I’m not normally brave like this. I might have even been less so when girls were involved. This particular group was made up of some of the more popular girls in school. There might have been one or two basketball cheerleaders in there and the class president.”
Trevor saw the man leaning closer as he spoke. With the raptness of his audience, Trevor felt more emboldened. His face flushed with the memory. He swore his hands had the clamminess of sweat like he was back in eighth grade standing before those girls. He swallowed back against the remembered lump in his throat.
“So I asked each in turn if they would like to dance and all of them shot me down. Some were nicer than others about it, but no one there wanted to have anything to do with me. With that over, I started slinking back to the boys’ side of the gym.
“Before I got there, my way got blocked by Jenny. She looked right in my eyes. I remember they were normally hazel when we were waiting for the bus. But in the gym that night with the atmospheric lights, they were a fiery green. I could not take my eyes off hers.
“’Ask me,’ she said,” Trevor recounted. “I stammered out something I thought was going to be grand and eloquent. It was probably much closer to a grunt and ‘Will you?’ in its volume and tone. I was scared she was doing it to just say no too.
“As it was, she nodded and moved closed. When her sweaty hands took mine, it was like a current of electricity passed through me. I could scarcely breath. The song we danced too felt like it went on all night and was over in a breath. We parted and went back to our sides. We would steal glances at each other all night. Then, we met again for the last song of the night. It was so sweet.”
Trevor reached up feeling the wetness on his face unsure when he started crying. He allowed the sentiment and surprise of how clear Jenny and the story rolled through his mind.
“Then the dance was over. My Mom picked us up. When we got home, I asked if it would be OK if I walked Jenny over to her house. My Mom said sure. I don’t know if she knew why or just thought I was being mature and sweet.
“Jenny and I walked down my driveway, over to hers and up to her front door. I was never sure what I intended by this act. I always thought this was how dates were supposed to end. I was just going to say good night. When I leaned in, Jenny did too and our lips brushed one another. We pulled back in shock. But then decided we liked it and kissed for real. I remember it as the longest and warmest thing I had ever experienced. It was…”
Trevor trailed off. He still was not sure what he thought of the kiss. He had tried writing about it from time to time since it was one of the most pivotal moments and most unexpectedly romantic things that had ever happened to him over the course of his young life.
“Magical,” he whispered.
Trevor stayed lost in the memory for a little longer. He looked up to see the man smiling. Wondering at the reason for the response, Trevor kept from asking for fear of hearing something unsavory.
“That’s it,” he said.
“Very good,” the man responded. “I can see now why Ballinger took a shine to you. She has very good eye. A very good eye.” He nudged the box closer to Trevor. “Be careful she doesn’t get her hands on these. They’re for you. You paid for them fair and square.”
Trevor picked them up off the counter. He considered for a minute maybe sharing the intimate story had been a bad idea. Then after thinking about it, he could not see how that was the case.
“Thanks again,” he said.
“Come back and see me. I’m sure you can find something else that will spark your imagination like those did. I’m sure you had your eye on something with a little more bite to it than a pair of glass eyes.”
Trevor stopped and met the old man’s eyes. He thought, for a second, that something like malice lurked there. He decided it was merely his overactive imagination.
“Sure thing,” Trevor said. “See you soon.”
After Trevor stepped outside, he felt an unsettled longing in his chest. He opened the box and stared down at the eyes. He could not fathom how they looked so close to the shade of Jenny’s on that night. His heart thudded in his chest. He had not thought about her in a while. He was glad to have remembered her and the dance.
“You heard that?” the shopkeeper asked peering out the front window at Trevor. “Jenny Purvis. You shouldn’t have a hard time finding her. Once you do, make sure you plant what he said.”
A furry creature the color of coal chittered and came out from behind the ancient cash register. It hopped excitedly issuing a series of sounds.
“Mmm, yes. I hope they lost touch the summer of that year. Even if they didn’t, we should be able to ruin both their lives with some well-placed nostalgia about the night of their first kiss.”
The bit of black fluff asked a squeaky question.
The old man shrugged. “If he does use the eyes, it might make things a bit more chaotic, but ultimately his story will be his undoing. He’ll start chasing something he can never catch and then we’ll have him. Now get to work.”
The shopkeeper kept an eye on Trevor and smiled as the messenger disappeared in a cloud of smoke. He drummed his fingers on the counter waiting for the next person to arrive.