Treasure Hunting

Growing up, my father and I loved going to the old thrift store down the street. The brick-red building had fading paint on the sides. I think it used to be a mural of some kind. The windows were littered with old deals and ads to lure people in. I'm pretty sure I've seen a 'Grand Opening' sign still there. 

The cluttered outside was the opposite of the neat rows of old clothes, toys, and other trinkets. It was almost too clean, with white tile floors and bright lighting that made even the dullest broach shine like it was new. Even the air smelled clean, like a mix of hospital-grade disinfectant and the apple-cinnamon air freshener that bored housewives use.  

My father and I would always separate about three minutes into browsing. He always got distracted by the old cassette tapes, C.D.s, and records. It was always really amazing to watch his eyes light up when he found his favorite bands. Amazing, but for a six-year-old, rather boring after the first couple times. 

While my father looked through what seemed like thousands of C.D.s, I wandered the store. I hid in clothes racks to jump out and scare people passing by. I played with the ancient toys that would give me nightmares later. Only after I got scolded by an employee was I satisfied. Then, I'd look carefully through the clothes and wait patiently for my father to pick something to buy.

That was when I was a child though. When my father was still alive. Seeing the old building now, looking exactly the same on the outside as is always has, brings such bittersweet memories flooding back. I want to go in, but it wont be the same. I'm far too big to be hiding in the clothes racks, and my father isn't here to peruse the music anymore. I wonder what they have there, and why my father looked every single time we went in. 

Maybe it's time. I haven't been in since I was twelve. Going inside definitely beats just sitting here in the parking lot and wondering. I already know that there are many treasures to be found, just waiting for me. Before I know it, I'm taking a deep breath of the disinfectant and apple-cinnamon. I squint my eyes against the harsh lighting. The plastic beaded jewelry in the glass case shine like diamonds. I make my way around the whole case, looking for something special. Big plastic pearl necklaces, chunky bracelets, tacky bug-shaped broaches, and many more ancient trinkets that not even my grandmother would wear were piled high in the case. Finally averting my gaze after making "eye contact" with a particularly ugly beetle broach, I head for the music section. 

There aren't as many records or cassette tapes as I remember, but there are a metric boat load of C.D.s. I understand now why it took my father so long to look through them. Just browsing I can see that they have Tom Petty, Ozzy Osbourn, Toby Keith, and many more that I can barely recognize. I love music, but I never got as into it as my father did, he practically studied it as if his life depended on it. Maybe getting one C.D. wouldn't hurt. I don't know if I have anything that will play it, but just having one feels like I'm closer to my father. I spend what feels like hours combing through all the C.D.s until I finally find one that sticks out. Motley Crue, the name sounds familiar so maybe my father liked them. I'll take it, after all there's still a lot more treasures to look through.

I peal myself away from the music and start heading for the toys. The shelves seem marginally smaller and emptier than I remember. Maybe the magic of the thrift store is wearing off, or maybe I'm just getting older. I meander down the aisle anyway, hoping to find a souvenir for my daughter. There are stuffed bears, Barbies that are missing limbs, Kens that have lost their clothes or their hair, old play keyboards with juice stains and faint jingles still playing, and one massive stuffed Micky Mouse. He sat on the highest shelf as if he were king of the toys, he was intimidating. The tag said he was only four feet tall, but I felt like he was closer to six feet. I managed to find the toy that will haunt me, but nothing my daughter would like. As I loop my way around back to the clothes, I feel the Micky's eyes follow me. 

Instead of looking through every article of clothing, being an adult has taught me how to find my size. I look for the larges, passing beautiful coats and jackets in sizes that I have never been, sizes so small that I'd need three of them just to fit around me. I'm not sure if that says more about me or the clothes. Finally reaching the end of the rack I find coats in my size. Most of them are plain black or brown and really puffy. I'm sure they're warm, but they don't look at all comfortable. Then I find it, wedged between an atrocious leopard print coat and an obnoxiously bright yellow one. The most beautiful coat. It wasn't too puffy, and the inside was actually very soft. This coat had a simple plaid design, but it was a soft mix of pink and silver. I love this coat, I need to try it on. I slowly slip it off of the hanger and look it over, it seemed to be in near-perfect condition. I pull it on and to my astonishment, it fits like a glove. It isn't tight at the back, I can zip it all the way up and still breathe, the sleeves were long enough to reach my palms. It was the perfect coat. 

I didn't waste time looking through the other sections. I needed this coat in my life, especially now that it was getting cold. I was so excited that the beetle broach sitting in the case didn't bother me when I passed it on the way to check out. Micky's beady eyes skimmed right over me. Just holding this coat felt like I had a new super power. I put it on right after paying for it and walked out the door. I couldn't wait to go home. I search for my keys, checking my pants pockets and my purse, then instinctively my new coat pockets. Obviously, my keys weren't in there, but there was something in the left pocket. 

I pulled out an old business card. The detailing was incredibly fancy for such a small card and the font was beautiful. The little paper card looked almost as if it belonged in a museum. The glittery blue font read "My this coat bless you with whatever you need." I thought this was odd, but kept it anyway. It was too beautiful to just throw away. I chuckled to myself before continuing to look for my keys. I stuck my hand back in my left coat pocket and found them. They weren't there before, but lo and behold, there they were now. Same ratted key chain and same set of keys. 

I know it's just a coat, but maybe the card was right. Maybe I will find whatever I need in this coat. If it is true, then I really did find a wonderful treasure in the old thrift store.