The Sale

A short story about letting go.

The rich babble of customers filled my ears that crisp Autumn morning in October. Bargain hunters, equipped with layered of scarves and hats to withstand the Weighbridge chill, puttered about dozens of car stalls, attempting to pick up a keepsake. I remember when I was the one in front of the stall, not behind it, and how I would inevitably walk away with more things than I wanted than needed.

I sipped the hot cocoa in my hands to warm up as much as I could and caught a whiff of a deep fried something, wafting from the lunch wagon close by. In the stall to my right, I could see that the seller's wares were to many that they overflowed to a table. To my left was a silver car whose nick-nacks looked moth eaten, and who I doubted would get a sale. 

I always loved the atmosphere of a car-boot sale. Smiling as people walked by in an attempt to entice them to look, the feeling you got inside when they stopped. I loved peering into neighboring stalls to observe their goods, never intending to buy. And, despite the cons, the feeling of having a core warmed by hot drinks and the numb fingertips got better every time.

Across from me a stout old woman in a dark petticoat admired a china teapot, and in the distance another car pulled up to sell. Nearby a transaction was for spices was being made, closer still, for books.

I was so distracted by all of this I did not see the small girl until she was directly in front of me, and had probably been browsing for several minutes.

"Miss" She said, to get my attention

"Can I buy this please?" Her northern accent rung in my ears and I suddenly realized what she was holding.

In her arms was the one thing in my trunk which I had mixed feelings about parting with, a small washed out plush toy, Stoccer.

I could not imagine anyone wanting to buy such an old and worn thing, but my husband had insisted I take it along in the hopes of getting rid of it. As she proffered it, my entire childhood flashed before my eyes.

When I was three and so happy to have a dog of my own, even if it was only plush. At four, being swung above my father's head with Stoccer in my own arms. Months later, playing imaginary games with him and having him comfort me when I was sad. Using him as a pillow, and falling asleep with him in my grasp. At eight being sure he would drown in the wash, and at nine bringing him in for show and tell.  

As I thought, I uncovered something; I never wanted to let Stoccer go. I wanted to keep him forever. 

I looked the girl up and down, into her soft brown eyes full of kindness, and the way she held Stoccer close to her heart. Cradled him. As I had done

And I said "Of course you can."

Author's Note

What do you think of the grammar. I was a little unsure about some comma placement, especially in the paragraph where she is reminiscing about her childhood. Also, the dialogue may be off. I'm also interested to know what you think of the short story overall. All reviews are greatly appreciated.

Reviews

[roarke]

A touching story, done on an intimate humanistic level. It reads fine. An enjoyable piece.

[a Detroit story teller]

This story is very well done. I like the use of description. There is a good emotional element as well.

[Fae]

Thanks for your input :)

[Jai Garg]

The commas are well placed to give the needed breaks; but I never give them importance it is the emotional value of the write that gives out the pleasure and this one is an excellent piece.