The Shop by the Corner

When I was a young lad, I used to frequent a shop of odds and ends by the corner of the street near our house. There were a myriad of strange and exciting things there—from marbles to fishhooks to old keyboards. The owner was a milky-eyed old man and he was always in a world no one was privy to. I would often buy chewing gum there, because the old man usually would toss in a few extra if you bought ten of them. As a child I was a gushing stream, and together with my friends we were a storm. The old man would smile when we were there, and then slip into his usual stoic expression.

I grew taller, the man passed, and his shop closed. Nobody in his family was interested in maintaining a shop with nothing useful to sell. So the place that was the highlight of my childhood faded into the background of everyone’s conscious, dust and grime collecting on the metal shutters.

After five years, I happened to be passing by the street near our house when I came to visit, it was just a sudden fancy, a little ember inside my heart to see our favourite haunt. But it was gone. The dark blue paint was replaced by bright yellow lights, glass doors welcoming me in to see the lights bouncing of the gold and diamonds. I caught the eye of the owner, the old man’s son. We smiled, a smile that spoke across the years that passed us by. And I walked on, the ghost of our childhood laughter still warm in my heart.

 

 (written as a flash fiction entry)