Visited St. Charles today, where we used to enjoy browsing the many antique shops that were there on Main Street. Mostly gone now, except for one which still features the same items we used to see there years ago. I was inspired to write a little story. Let me know if you like it.

The Old Antique Shop

by Barbara Lipkin

The beer stein breathed a sigh of relief as the lights of the store dimmed and he heard the click of the shop’s door as it shut for the night. He’d been standing straight and proud for the last nine hours, putting his best face forward with his handle cocked jauntily on his hip. Now it was time to relax.

“I’m glad that’s over,” Ms. Teacup whispered to her neighbor, Mr. Stein. “It’s certainly been a long day.” Ms. Teacup was fashioned from the finest Limoges porcelain, part of the Champs de Tulipes collection designed by Dior, with graceful pink petals composing a delicate floral tribute to the mid-century place settings of which it was an important part, topped with a rim picked out in 24-carat gold. She’d been resting on her matching saucer, bright but demure, since early morning and now welcomed the chance to let down her guard a bit.

“Yes,” Mr. Stein agreed. “For a little while there, I thought that young couple was about to take you home with them, but then apparently changed their minds and walked out without adopting any of us. Close call, there.”

“True, but I wasn’t really worried,” Ms. Teacup responded. “It’s happened before, you know. Lots of times. But I’ve found that young people these days have no use for relics like us. That’s why we’ve all been sitting around here so many years. Actually, I’m surprised that our proprietor hasn’t already thrown us all in the recycle bin and closed up shop. She surely can’t be making any money here. She almost never sells anything now.  But nobody cares anymore. One shudders to think what people must be putting on their tables these days.”

“Yes, there was a time when such as us were loved and cherished. Mid-century young brides would spend hours choosing fine china and silver, and creamy smooth linen for their tables. And when they entertained, they brought us out with pride, and everyone admired us. But those days are gone, now. No one cares anymore.” Ms. Teacup’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I often feel so sad and lonely. I remember dear Mrs. Howe. She’d spend hours polishing us up, caressing and admiring our whole set. But then after she passed on, her kids came and packed us all up, and brought us here to the shop. They got only a few dollars in exchange, but they let us go without a backward glance. It really hurt, I must admit.”

The silence of the antique shop was broken with a gentle rustling, as many of the china pieces, the crystal glassware, and the silver cutlery, shook themselves out of their poses. They tried so hard, every day, to appear bright and attractive, but the few people who came into the store walked right by, with hardly a glance. They were often heard to say, “Oh, my mother had a set of glasses just like that.” Or—“I remember my grandma used to sew on a machine like this one, using a foot treadle to make the needle go up and down. How quaint.”

“Quaint,” muttered Ms. Teacup. “Quaint. Well, one day, sooner than they realize, they’ll be considered quaint, too. Their own kids will come to their homes, pick through their things, and box them all up to move them to a store like this one. Unless all those precious objects end up in a land fill somewhere, unseen and unremembered, treated like garbage. Then they’ll know how quaint we all are, but it’ll be too late then.”

“Now, now, dear, let’s knot get our knickers in a knot,” remonstrated Mrs. Music Box. She was a pretty little thing, a round china box with a little ballerina perched on her top, who whirled around in time to the music when anyone turned the key on her side. Which hadn’t happened for quite some time, now. “It’s the way of the world, that’s all. We had our time in the sun. Now it’s time to move on.”

“Move on where ?,” Mr. Stein demanded. “Move on, how? We’re pretty well stuck where we are, until our ‘owner’ gets good and sick of coming to this store every day and gives it all up. Then we’ll end up in that land fill, to be sure.”

Ms. Teacup sniffed. “You’re right, I’m sure. Still, it’s sad, isn’t it? To think we were all so loved and admired once. We thought it would last forever.”

“Nothing lasts forever, dear. You know that.” Mrs. Music Box said.

A soft sigh and a lot of sniffles could be heard throughout the shop, but soon enough, all the antiques settled down for the night and all was quiet and still.