Adventures in Junk

We didn't know how to get where we were going. That may have been because the GPS didn't work, but let's chalk it up to an adventure. Adventurers. That's us.

Junk shop. Pull over.  The way the outside light filters through the old windows gives the whole store a sepia tone. Costume jewelry and splintered furniture. Ancient eggbeaters. Sealing wax. A box of bottle caps, jars of buttons. Boxy cameras that no longer work, field hockey sticks with peeling grips. All of it talks. All of it has a story.

There are records, stacks of  warped 45s without sleeves, hung on an upside-down stool leg. One by one, I go through them. On the other side of a bookshelf filled with broken super 8 projectors and tube radio parts, Sara rearranges books on shelves. She's cut her hair since I've last seen her, and it falls loosely forward as she pulls out an anthology of Oscar Wilde.

Elton John. Frank Sinatra. The Beach Boys. I set aside my favorites.

We tackle the biggest shelf together, full albums in colored sleeves. I move from left to right; her from right to left. I find it first. The complete soundtrack from Moonstruck, a stereotypical, ridiculous, romantic comedy, starring Cher and Nicolas Cage. It's fabulous. This movie is our movie. The record's beautiful, in nearly perfect condition, and I pull it off the shelf. We squeal. I hear another shopper joke to the owner, "I think you just made a sale."

We move through the rest of the store. Dollhouse furniture. An exit sign. A shaving kit. Hand bells. As we walk back to the front, we bump into the owner. His hair is wild and white, his face creased around his bright eyes and wide smile. He talks fast, excitedly, waving his hands.

"I've gotta know," he says, "What's the record? Does it tie you to an old flame, or what?"
I laugh, and Sara holds it up the record for him to see.
"We really like the movie," she explains.
"Ah," he nods, knowingly, "Great movie. Nicolas Cage's second best."
"Second best?"
"Ever seen Raising Arizona?"

I pay him for the records, he finds change in his wallet, handing us Moonstruck with a wink.

At home, we drink juice and put on the records and try on dresses. The moon is fittingly full."Your Song" has a skip, an infinite loop in the middle, but I don't bother to get up to change it. I could listen to Elton forever.