Group 10
Genre: Drama
Location: Thrift Store
Object: Stamp
1000 words (988)
Title: The Parcel String Letters
Synopsis: No one messes with Sissy Tye.
In Dunwoody on the corner of Carver and Maple is a thrift store. Tye Thrift. It’s very average, nothing special. Clothes, shoes, dishes, kitchen appliances, chairs. Jewelry is kept under glass near the register. DVDs and video games are on the shelves behind the counter. A Star Wars toy has shown up in original packaging from time to time, but what keeps Tye Thrift in business is the senior center on Tilly Mill Road.
The Mill Pointe Arms, specifically the cleaning crew - even more specifically Samuel Rumson – has an arrangement with Tye Thrift concerning the leftover effects of any resident’s sudden departure. Tye Thrift will take whatever he’s got.
Sissy Tye, heiress and proprietor of Tye Thrift sat on her stool behind the counter and took the large cardboard box from Samuel. “Thank you, sweetheart. Anything else?”
“Just this.” He handed Sissy a shoebox. It was hinged in back, and there were thin worn leather straps that hung over the front. It said Field and Flint on the side. “Bunch a old letters. Some ain’t ever been sent.”
“Hmmm,” said Sissy looking them over matter of factly. “Might as well take those, too.”
Samuel nodded and opened the door to leave. “217C won’t last the week.”
“You know where to find us,” said Sissy looking through the shoebox.
The bell rang as Samuel shut the door.
There were at least a hundred letters. They were old, and looked like parchment. Some had water damage, some looked like they might turn to powder if a breeze came along, and true enough, some were never sent. Parcel string was tied around these. Lost in thought Sissy hadn’t noticed the bell when the door opened.
“Excuse me,” said the man.
Sissy looked up startled. She didn’t know how long the man had been standing at the counter. He was in his early fifties, lean, kept his head shaved. His leather jacket looked baby lamb soft. His fingers were long and his nails were perfect. Sissy slowly closed the shoebox as she held his eyes in hers. Well, her good eye, anyway.
Sissy Tye wore an eye patch like a pirate. When she was six years old, her older brother Tyrone - who was ten at the time, hit her on the side of her head with a baseball bat and knocked her eye right out of its socket. It landed on the living room rug like a hardboiled egg. While it’s true Sissy was brought to the hospital that afternoon, it was Tyrone who spent an extra two days in the ER.
“Can I help you?” Sissy asked the man.
“Well, I’m from New York, do a little some business in Atlanta. I take the scenic route because, well, I like to stop by stores such as yours. Sometimes you can find such treasures. See, I’m a collector, you know, like ashtrays and-“
“You smoke?”
“Well, no, actually. I-“
“Ashtrays are by the bowls.” Sissy pointed over the man’s shoulder.
The man looked behind him. Then back down at the shoebox.
“Field and Flint,” he said. “Used to be Packard.”
Sissy didn’t say anything.
“That’s a very old shoebox,” continued the man.
Sissy placed it on the counter behind her. In her hand were the parcel string letters.
“Some old letters in that box?”
Sissy shrugged her shoulders. “Hasn’t been checked in yet. New arrival.”
“Tell you what,” said the man taking out his wallet. “I’ll take that old shoebox off your hands right now. You take credit cards?”
“Don’t even know the price. And like I said, it hasn’t been checked in yet.”
The man looked around the store.
“C’mon,” he said, “it’s just an old shoebox. You don’t need to-”
A large man lumbered over to the counter. He wore overalls, bright white hi-tops, and had a long deep scar across his left temple. His nametag said Tyrone. He stood next to the man.
“Everything ok, Sissy?”
“I got this, Ty Ty. Actually, can you tell me what do we do with new merch?”
“Check it in.”
“Thank you. This man is interested in ashtrays. Can you show him over to the bowls?”
“That’s okay,” said the man. “May I see those?” He pointed to the parcel string letters in Sissy’s hand.
Sissy waved off Tyrone.
“Here,” said Sissy handing the man the letters. “Keep ‘em tied.”
The man looked at the envelopes closely. On each letter he rubbed his thumb over the rose-colored two-cent stamp and its profile of George Washington.
“Well,” he said, “I bet these are some interesting old letters. My wife actually loves old letters like these. I know you have to check them in, but what if I gave you five hundred dollars cash right here right now for these and whatever’s in that old box.”
The man smiled wide.
“You want to take a second and think on that?”
Sissy put her hand out for the letters.
“I don’t need that kind of time.”
“A thousand,” said the man.
“I think you’ve taken my outstretched arm as a gesture of good will,” said Sissy her one eye trained and unblinking. “I assure you it’s not.”
The man handed the letters to Sissy.
“Two thousand,” he said.
Sissy flipped through the letters and watched the stamps flash by.
“It’s like a little movie,” she said leaning back in her chair. “Now I’m no philatelist, but I bet just one of these is about fifteen hundred. There are fourteen. That’s about twenty one thousand dollars. That math seem right?”
“How about my car?” asked the man. “Car for the letters?”
“What kind of car you got?”
“Lexus.”
“Ty Ty, what car you see outside?”
Tyrone looked out the door.
“Green Lexus.”
“LS or GS?”
“ES, I think.”
“ES?” Sissy asked the man.
The man nodded.
“I gotta take a second and think on that,” said Sissy. “I bet it’s got a lot of miles.”
No comments:
Post a Comment