qwertyportne
July 22nd, 2014, 09:31 PM
On the drive to the antique shop, Emily watched the Danube River meander between the cities of Buda and Pest. That's me, she thought, wandering between who I am and who they expect me to be. Budapest. What a strange place for a vacation. This is how I'll feel in boarding school when I turn 14. A stranger. Bored and alone. There won't even be any boys.
When they arrived at the shop, she followed her parents inside. The man standing behind the counter said, without smiling, "Jo reggelt kivanok." Emily guessed that meant "Hello." or "Good morning." He looked like a shriveled old potato left too long in the pantry.
The shop looked like its owner: dark, dirty and disheveled. The only light came from the sun streaming through the six small windows above the front door, and the shelves were crowded with things covered in dust, and stacked on top of each other. The dust alone convinced Emily his customers had not been fooled by the dim light, that even the owner didn't care about his so-called antiques.
Antiques. What a silly word. Just a way to make junk sound like something valuable. Everything in this shop has been forgotten. Like the stuff in my grandmother's attic, where I used to hide to enjoy being forgotten.
The antique store back home in Kansas was named Good Riddance and rightfully so, because most of the things for sale were not junk. And it was clean and well-lit. This shop reminded Emily of the one in the movie Gremlins. Her parents would not have approved of her watching a movie like that, so she and her friend Zoey had found it on You Tube. Emily shuddered to think something like Gizmo could be hiding in this shop.
With these thoughts swirling around in the back of her head, Emily ambled toward the back of the shop. Turning a corner, she had a clear view of the windows above the front door and noticed the glass in each of the six rectangular panes had been yellowed with age, softened by the sunlight passing through it. The windows let the light in because it's welcome here.
Watching the dust floating in the light, suspended by it, Emily's feelings toward the musty old shop softened, as if she too had permission to be there.
In the next aisle, an old typewriter caught her eye. She leaned over and blew off the dust. The royal-blue case was decorated with gold pin striping and a seal or emblem of some kind on the front. The keys sitting in the long sweeping curve of the faceplate looked like the beads of a necklace around a lady's neck. Maybe it belonged to a princess, she thought.
Emily looked around to make sure nobody was watching, took a piece of paper from the notepad in her purse and put it in the typewriter. She leaned forward to type, but noticed the keys were not in the same positions as the keys on her computer keyboard back home. The letters on this typewriter looked as if someone had tossed them onto the keys with no thought whatsoever.
She had to hunt for the keys she wanted but finally typed MY NAME IS EMILY. When she was done, she saw the typewriter had printed MT LAMD G: DMGPT.
As Emily stood there wondering why the typewriter had printed different letters than the ones she had typed, the keys began striking the paper by themselves.
Emily stepped back and stared wide-eyed at the typewriter as it printed MT LAMD G: DPG:A directly below the letters she had typed moments before.
"Wow!" yelled Emily, then she turned to see if anyone had heard her outburst. "This is a magic typewriter." she whispered, then ran to find her parents, who were bickering over an old clock.
When they arrived at the shop, she followed her parents inside. The man standing behind the counter said, without smiling, "Jo reggelt kivanok." Emily guessed that meant "Hello." or "Good morning." He looked like a shriveled old potato left too long in the pantry.
The shop looked like its owner: dark, dirty and disheveled. The only light came from the sun streaming through the six small windows above the front door, and the shelves were crowded with things covered in dust, and stacked on top of each other. The dust alone convinced Emily his customers had not been fooled by the dim light, that even the owner didn't care about his so-called antiques.
Antiques. What a silly word. Just a way to make junk sound like something valuable. Everything in this shop has been forgotten. Like the stuff in my grandmother's attic, where I used to hide to enjoy being forgotten.
The antique store back home in Kansas was named Good Riddance and rightfully so, because most of the things for sale were not junk. And it was clean and well-lit. This shop reminded Emily of the one in the movie Gremlins. Her parents would not have approved of her watching a movie like that, so she and her friend Zoey had found it on You Tube. Emily shuddered to think something like Gizmo could be hiding in this shop.
With these thoughts swirling around in the back of her head, Emily ambled toward the back of the shop. Turning a corner, she had a clear view of the windows above the front door and noticed the glass in each of the six rectangular panes had been yellowed with age, softened by the sunlight passing through it. The windows let the light in because it's welcome here.
Watching the dust floating in the light, suspended by it, Emily's feelings toward the musty old shop softened, as if she too had permission to be there.
In the next aisle, an old typewriter caught her eye. She leaned over and blew off the dust. The royal-blue case was decorated with gold pin striping and a seal or emblem of some kind on the front. The keys sitting in the long sweeping curve of the faceplate looked like the beads of a necklace around a lady's neck. Maybe it belonged to a princess, she thought.
Emily looked around to make sure nobody was watching, took a piece of paper from the notepad in her purse and put it in the typewriter. She leaned forward to type, but noticed the keys were not in the same positions as the keys on her computer keyboard back home. The letters on this typewriter looked as if someone had tossed them onto the keys with no thought whatsoever.
She had to hunt for the keys she wanted but finally typed MY NAME IS EMILY. When she was done, she saw the typewriter had printed MT LAMD G: DMGPT.
As Emily stood there wondering why the typewriter had printed different letters than the ones she had typed, the keys began striking the paper by themselves.
Emily stepped back and stared wide-eyed at the typewriter as it printed MT LAMD G: DPG:A directly below the letters she had typed moments before.
"Wow!" yelled Emily, then she turned to see if anyone had heard her outburst. "This is a magic typewriter." she whispered, then ran to find her parents, who were bickering over an old clock.