Anthony's Antiques

This is a personal narrative I wrote in school. its about my trip to england and what fun I had there!

Jingle, jingle! Went the old wooden door leading into  Anthony's Antiques. A blast of warmth quarantined the brisk cold air outside. I took a cautious step onto the wooden floors of the shop, now faded. A couple of boards were turned up around the shop. An old man with a white beard and little round glasses remained glued in a seat placed behind an old desk. He seemed to be peering over his little glasses looking at something he had hidden in the shade of a book labeled, “A guide to pocket watches for any but the faint of heart” catchy title.

“Hello.” My cousin Ethan sort of murmured to himself.

“Hello.” The man who I now suspected was Anthony replied. A look of uncertainty spread across Ethan’s face. He stood there looking like he had definitely not expected for the old man to answer. Quite frankly neither did I. I heard Ethan murmur a sort of grunt to himself before turning toward the antiques.

The old man held up a beautiful silver pocket watch and began to hod it up to an old dusty window that allowed the sun rays from outside to intrude the dark lonely mood of the shop. The rays caught the watch just right so that the shiny glazed outside of the pocket watch so that it shone with a glint in the fading sun.

I stared into his big brown eyes and for a second we made eye contact but I looked away the second he realized that I was staring at him and his quirks.

“Looking for anything specific?” Anthony questioned still not looking up from the watch.

I was about to say no, when Ethan beat me to it.

“Just having a ‘look around’ while our parents look in some book store in the square.” He said.

“Right then,” he said. “Keep looking!” he gave us a goofy grin to show off his 3 gold fillings and then returned to the beautiful little pocket watch. A small grin crept its way across my face.

I quietly ran my fingers over a model train labeled “The Dalesman” A famous steam train from the yorkshire dales where we were. The train was still in use, but as old as a giant redwood tree!

“Would you like to have a glance at this beautiful pocket watch I am making. Right then I noticed a beautiful little glass angel hanging above the door frame. I quietly made my way over to where Anthony was sitting. I threw another glance toward the angle. A warm chill rippled through my body, and gave me a serious case of the giggles. Thankfully nobody asked me what was so funny.

“So Jordan, you like pocket watches?” He questioned me.

“I… guess?” I answered. “H...How do you know my name?”

“I have my ways.” He said and nodded toward my neon blue water bottle which has the word Jordan neatly printed against the side of it. Oh.

I glanced down at my watch and saw that our time here was up. Our parents would be waiting in the square.

“We have to go.” I told Ethan. “Our parents our waiting!”

We both shuffled out the door really quickly as if we had never even met Anthony. But I just could not leave without tossing him a friendly wave before zipping up my coat and sending my foot out first onto the cold hard pavement. I Heard a big crash from inside the shop. I felt the blood drain from my face as  I quickly re-opened the door to find I had broken that tiny perfect glass angel. I stared in horror ta the broken glass pieces that had once been the long hair of the angle. I had done it. Way to go nimrod.  Smooth as a sack of sandpaper.

A dark pit began to form in the bottom of my stomach. It became increasingly larger as a worrisome look spread across Ethan’s face. I felt his stare like a lazar so hot it almost burnt holes in my back.

“Look what you’ve done…” he began. He sort of murmured something that sounded like  oh great. Or something like that. Silence. It felt like I had just left earth and was zooming into space to absolutely no where! I needed to say something. I couldn't just stand there like an idiot...

“I…..i…. It was an accident! I promise. I am so sorry mister, this is all my fault and will pay for this oh I am such a…” I rambled. I heard another customer in the shop curse under his breath and then turn to the door to leave.  Great. And now I was costing Anthony valuable customers. I began to run towards the door, feeling like a coward.

“It’s okay.” Antony interrupted my rambling. “You don’t have to pay for anything. That angel is not one of a kind. In fact I have about seven more in the back room, and you made me laugh.”

“How does tht have anything to do with all of this????” I protested.

“It does not have anything to do with this but you brought a smile to my face and when you are an old man like me working in an old antiques shop you tend to learn the most important and impactful people are the ones that put a smile on your face or make you laugh. In my case that does not happen often.” He replied.

Even after his whole lecture I still felt bad so on my way out I bought a pretty angel.

As we walked back towards the square I kept turning over the piece of glass magic in my hands feeling its smooth perfect surface. The edges of the angel run across my cold fingers. I know this sounds impossible but it almost felt as if the angel was warming my hands. When my parents asked us how It went I simply replied, “Great” and handed them the pretty translucent angel. I still felt guilty.

Author's Note

Please use appropriate language.

Reviews

[VALORMORE DE PLUME]

I am quite impressed by your vivid depictions. Indeed, equally enchanted by the inner dialogue and timing as this unfolds.

[Adam Latham]

What a wonderful story, really well written, you should be proud of yourself. "The train was still in use but as old as a giant Redwood tree..." What a great line....well done. :)

[Jordan Eliza Beer]

Thank you so much!

[Adam Latham]

You're very welcome. By the way, I've only just noticed the little note that you included with your work...about visiting England. I live in England and when I first read your story I was wondering why someone from Atlanta would mention the Yorkshire Dales! :) Now I know...I really should pay more attention. Anyway...well done again.

[Jordan Eliza Beer]

Thanks my mom grew up there and my grand parents still live there

[angel]

What a sweet story! Did this really happen?
Whether it did or not, you told the story well.
Glad that you are here!

[Jordan Eliza Beer]

It did actually happen! Thanks so much!

[limoncello]

I think the reason you couldn't submit this is that it's a short story. The contest is for poetry only. It's still open, so if you want to write a poem and submit it, feel free!

(I'd also appreciate it if you checked out some of my work :)
-Chandler

[Jordan Eliza Beer]

I also have poetry i wanted to submit! Thanks!