old things.

Today I decided to walk around Old Roswell on my way back from coffee. I parked and got out of my Ford Taurus and as I began to walk away from it I felt an urge to go back for an umbrella- just incase. The sky was grey and it felt like rain- I decided to keep walking anyway.. probably out of laziness. I wandered into an antique shop where several different vendors had booths set up. This was the first antique store I can remember ever stepping foot in. Not because the idea of one is unattractive to me, it’s just one of those things that others find common that I have somehow gone on without. Like watching the movie Juno- I hear it’s a great film and I would like to see it but somehow, I remain to be what I can only assume is the only American who hasn’t.

I walked the isles with hands that felt as if they needed to touch everything in order to somehow get aquatinted with each item. As I began to wander I could hear faint sounds of thunder and looked out the windows to see that it was not yet raining. I began to regret my decision to not bring the umbrella lying in the backseat of my car and had thoughts of heading back before the storm hit. I kept walking. Each booth was filled with what some would call clutter and would for others cause excitement like that of a child who first discovers the existence of a candy store. Mirrors, old radios and cameras, jewelry, clothes, bags, trinkets, books and wind-chimes. Nothing of functional value. Nonetheless, I really enjoyed my stroll around the place. It had a somewhat enchanted feel to it. I even ended up buying something. Two books- $5 each. One of short stories written by Mark Twain and published in 1952. The second was titled, “Gray’s Anatomy”. Which by the way is a book about the human body and not about a sexed up hospital in Seattle.

As I was checking out, I exchanged a strangely easy conversation with the man behind the counter. I had been walking around antiques long enough to believe that I was in Mayberry. I saw through the window behind him that it was now raining- hard. I asked for a plastic bag to put my books in so that at least they would be protected from the rain. I decided to wait a few minutes to leave, hoping the rain would ease up.

As I sat watching the rain drops pelt the ground outside, I began to wonder why we like old things. If new things are faster, sleeker and more efficient why do we like old stuff so much? Is it because it’s rare? Because it’s pretty? Or is it because it represents a time that we’ve been told was better, was simpler, was good. I tend to think it’s the latter- at least it is for me. Somehow we believe that these old things will connect us to the time they came from.. when they were new. We believe that reading an older copy of a book that we could read just the same on our Kindles will in a way make our lives more like theirs- the people from the better time. People, we assume, who had no problems of their own and desired nothing but to live and be right when and where they were.

Several minutes had passed and I stood and walked to the door even though the rain was coming down just as hard as it had been when I first sat down. I stepped outside, still standing under the overhang jutting out from the front of the store. There was a crack that sounded in the grey and then a smash of thunder that could have restarted a stalled heart. Though I would probably find in my new anatomy book that that was impossible. I stood, knowing that as soon as I braved the storm, soaked myself, and made it to my car parked a quarter of a mile away, the rain would stop. I watched as cars rolled in and out of the parking lot and considered asking one of them for a ride. I thought about offering them money until I realized that the smallest bill in my wallet was a ten- and then still halfway considered it. I then thought to myself, “what’s the big deal?” It was, of course, only water. Had I become so disconnected from the natural world that I was now instinctively afraid of rain?

With that, I edged up to the water line under the overhang. Tension built inside my gut like it does when you are standing at the edge of a swimming pool having just tested the water with your toes to find that it was colder than your idea of comfortable. Anticipation of the plunge and anxiety of the discomfort both at their height, I began to walk and then run- pressing down hard with my toes to try to keep the cracks in the bottom of my shoes from opening too wide. I made it to a line of store fronts with small decorative overhangs and walked quickly passed the dry, comfortable people standing by the doors. A group of guys smiled at me with amusement and approval of my resilience- one gave me thumbs up. I ran out into the open rain once more to cross the street to my car. As I slid inside the cab, I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and stopped to see how silly I looked. Soaked, my hair was dripping onto my face and shoulders. With a slight feeling of accomplishment and pathetic exhilaration, I drove home with my new old books.