[title subtitle=”words Sarah Phillips”][/title]
One could say it was the friendly people, the wide aisles, or even the soft lighting that kept her coming back to Belle Star Vintage Market time and time again. Or that it was the way that each and every booth in the large building had every item in it displayed in such a way that one could easily imagine those items, sitting on a shelf in their own home, looking just as beautiful.
Yes, those were all reasons for loving the trip downtown to browse. But what Sammy loved most was the sense of wonder that it stirred in her. She bubbled over with excitement each time she pulled into the parking lot, not knowing what she would find that day.
In this place where old is new again and the quality and purpose of an item took on a different, less concrete meaning than something you might buy elsewhere, she always took her time. Like a lamb in a field without concern, she stopped and fed her imagination at one space and then another, allowing the calming musky smell that only comes from vintage to work its magic. As she made her way down the aisles her eyes took in the kaleidoscope of colors and textures, darting from furniture to pictures, to knickknacks and once upon a time keepsakes.
She stopped to admire a wooden rocking horse sitting on top of a turquoise table, out of reach of the little ones who might not be able to resist going for a ride. The grain in the wood was worn away in places from the infinite number of giddy-ups it offered. The saddle was frayed and faded to the lightest of pinks, and the metal on which it rocked was dull.
Sammy wondered about the children that rode the little horse so long ago. She could almost see their faces, their heads tipped back with delight, their little fists gripped around the dark leather rein. Would any of them remember this horse or the delight that it brought them?
The next thing to catch her eye was a red suitcase. It was in great shape despite its age. The leather felt smooth and supple, the trim was still intact with no obvious scuff marks, the gold latches still shined. Inside, the untorn silk lining reflected the same cream color of the outside stitching. It was the kind of suitcase that was perfect for a weekend getaway. Sammy could even imagine someone boarding a train, their belongings tucked inside, ready for a new adventure.
She noticed that stitched into the leather under the handle were the initials ‘CB.’ Who are you, CB? And where did you go with this lovely red suitcase? Or did this case stay in the top of a closet unused as its perfect condition suggests?
Down the next aisle, in an inconspicuous blue bowl, lay several pictures. The first few were black and white portraits of women.All wore stern looks, black clothing and long, dark hair piled high on their heads. The last picture in the pile was of two women in shorts and halter tops sitting in lawn chairs laughing; the kind of laugh that made your belly muscles ache and left lines on your face.
Sammy couldn’t help but smile along with them. But what was so funny? Were they sisters or just friends? Do they still laugh like that? She searched the faded color photograph for any clue, itching to know their story, but found none. She made note of the contrast between the women in this picture and those in the older portraits. Time is a blessing for women in some ways, a curse in others.
How many stories, how many lives, how many memories could one building hold? Do these objects carry this knowledge around with them, forever bound to hold the secrets? At night, when the lights are dimmed and the store is quiet, do these beautiful belongings beguile each other with tales of this world to pass the time?
Even though Sammy was drawn to the mystery of it all, knowing she could never fully unravel it, it left her feeling somewhat adrift. She knew that in the future, her belongings could end up in a place like this, her own story and memories long forgotten, never to be known again.
As she rounded the last corner on her familiar path around the store, her eyes landed on a green Pyrex dish, avocado green to be exact, with an oval shape and white flowers sprinkled on the sides. “I know you,” Sammy thought.
Just like that, she was barefoot, running through her grandmother’s home. Her ears had picked up the faint shuffle of the Velveeta box being opened, the bottom sliding out and onto the counter. She then heard the foil wrapper unfolding, confirming it to be true.
Grandma was making her broccoli rice casserole. Sammy made her way to the kitchen counter and stood on her tip toes so that she could peek inside the flowered dish. It was already filled with the broccoli and rice mixture, the steam filling her nose. “Broccoli smells like green,” she thought. She looked up at her grandma and then down at the block of cheese.
“I suppose you want a piece?” Grandma asked. Sammy grinned. Of course, she did. She watched as her grandma’s jeweled fingers sliced off a small corner with a butter knife and handed it to her. Sammy reached up with her tiny hand, took the cheese and plopped it right into her mouth. It was creamy but slightly sticky and she licked it off her teeth and then her fingers before sighing in contentment.
She watched, her hands gripped on the side of the Formica countertop, as her grandma cut thin squares and placed them atop the hot rice, filling in empty spaces with chunks torn off at different angles. When she was done, Sammy grinned again, her hand outstretched for more. “One more,” Grandma said as she sliced off another small piece.
“Excuse me,” said a voice that was not her grandma’s. Sammy blinked and she was back amongst the antiques and apparently, she was standing in the middle of the aisle.
“Oh, sorry,” she said as she stepped aside, not fully acknowledging the owner of the unknown voice. Her nose could still smell the warmth, her mouth could still taste the richness and her heart was freshly filled with love once shared in a kitchen long ago.
She smiled as she placed the casserole dish on the counter. “This all for you today?” asked the dark-haired woman who returned Sammy’s smile behind her cheetah print glasses.
“Yes,” Sammy replied and then added, “This is everything.”
