Albert's Antiques

There were many times in the day that Albert would look out the window into the horizon and let his mind drift. He would do this when he woke up to the birds chirping and the rain pouring, waiting for the kettle to boil for his morning cup of tea, when he sat down for dinner in the final hours of the day. Hypnotised by the rolling hills he would let his mind melt into their beauty. The windows were his only connection to the world in Lockdown and he took much delight in gazing out of them. This time brings back the unpleasant memories of the Second World War, of being a young man hiding away at every turn for fear of danger, waiting for the moment to be called into unjustified action. This trait seams to have unfortunately followed him for his entire life, only to be amplified by the current uncertainties.

In his older years Albert found he had more and more attachment to the possessions around him. All the things that he had built up in his life were stacked around his frail being. Some may perceive this as a claustrophobic hell, though for Albert, these possessions had always acted as familiar companions. He loved nostalgia, attaching emotion and memories to mundane objects that, to others, really meant very little. Such connection made him feel like his life was full of purpose and depth. Holding onto beautiful memories that may not to have been even his own was what made him human. It was once a charming trait to possess and others found it rather sweet; however, as time went on Albert found himself unable to move forward.

He spent his life working in his father’s antique store. Like many of his time, Albert was named after his father and with this blessing came the store’s name, Albert’s Antiques. He found himself reflecting upon his days with his father more often than usual, as if the memory of him remained unresolved. At that thought he has to swallow down the bubble of guilt that had formed itself within his throat.

His father was an outgoing character, always creating an atmosphere for people to have fun. Whenever Albert looks back on his memories of him there’s records with The Jungle Book soundtrack, champagne, pancakes, dancing and odd paraphernalia. All kinds of oddities: telescopes, trumpets, letters, clocks and watches, hussites and whatsis clogs and frogs, clothes, hoes and all of the wonders of the past stacked like mountains that reached the ceiling. He remembers the smell of musty books of poetry, particularly Shakespeare. The feel of the army veterans medals smooth surface, knowing that how they came to be in the shop was anything but a smooth appearance.

The store had a magical, timeless energy that made him feel young. Maybe it was because everything felt so full of history; no matter how old he became there was always something at least a century older within arm’s reach. Or maybe it was because he spent his life in that place, it was almost as if time no longer mattered. A bubble of nostalgia separate from the present world. Everything that ever had some importance in his life was formed around that store.

It was where he met Annabelle. Oh, Annabelle! When she walked into the shop that cold rainy day the sun shone bright with warm rays that blew away the dust from the shelves. Time started again as if recharged from its delay-grasping memories.

She loved to come in and read the old letters from the wars. Later, he discovered that her brother was declared missing and she was searching for him within their words. Albert would hover close pretending to stack the shelves and listen to her giggle at the notes. He knew that most of them were quite simple and would make him laugh as well.

“Dear Sally. The weather is good here. I ate a sandwich with pastrami. I hope the weather is good where you are. Sincerely, Fred.”

Albert would spend extra time finding letters that he thought would make her laugh and when she walked into the store he would place them nearby when she wasn’t looking. This went on for many years and as the small talk between them began to become more familiar so did their likeness for each other. Albert loved her from the moment he saw her and over time she came to love him too.

Annabelle was a gifted photographer. Albert would come with her into the dark room she had set up in her attic, intrigued by this confident young woman. Dipping the photographs into the chemicals and watching them evolve into full bodied images was magic within itself.

She had such a beautiful and sentimental way of capturing the world around her, and he felt special to be invited into it. Looking through another’s eyes gave him hope that there was an enchanting world outside of his collections.

Unsurprisingly, the rest of the world seemed to feel this way about her work. After University, her career rapidly flourished. She was offered jobs in numerous exciting parts of the globe, and presented Albert the opportunity to join her on these adventures. Yet, the fear of living in a world with such a precarious future was far too much for him to bear.

He thinks about his time with Annabelle decades later, as he gazes out the window and finds the loss and regret of his decision.

She wrote him letters for many years describing her worldly adventures.

"Dear Albert. I am in the Amazonian jungle. The weather is extremely humid. I have been eating only bugs for three days now. I hope you and the store are well. Your love, Annabelle."

He kept every letter she wrote to him of her travels in a little black book, a sacred journal of love and adventure. He wondered if she had done something similar with his replies.

Over time the letters became less and less until her revealing her engagement to a feature writer of Life magazine. Albert was heartbroken. The guilt of his inability to choose adventure over security still lingers within his soul today, and yet he hopes that Annabelle found happiness within her own life.

Without the caress of the love she gave he finds himself, years later, still surrounded by the company of other’s achievements; false nostalgia that was once so comforting is now empty. What if? Is a nightmarish thought that likes to tangle itself in the clusters of his brain.

Now he sits with it; churning inside him like sour milk. All the grief, all the regret and unresolved issues he feared to confront when he was young and able rests itself within the pit of his stomach.

Since the days of COVID-19 Albert’s Antiques has been taken by the bank. Unsurprisingly, he found himself unable to give any of the items within the store away. Instead he moved them into his small one bedroom apartment, now a forest of junk; its magic appeal fleeting away to become a much heavier burden - his life surrounded in the only thing he knows, the past. How much he has missed in his own life, as he found treasure within others’ experience.

Until that one particular morning when he poured his cup of tea and gazed out the window. Finding such simple act’s hazardous to his health as he dodges past costumes, musical instruments, mirrors, and mannequins. Albert found himself afflicted by a sea of loneliness in these surrounding possession's. It seems strange that they once brought him such familiar pleasantries.

His mind begins to wonder to a place that he had locked away for a very long time. Amongst the clutter of his apartment lived letters filled with startling, often beautiful visions of the world.

An indescribable desire draws him to his collection of wonders, a place he rarely allows his mind to venture in fear of what thoughts may arise.

Maybe it was because he had been inside for so long surrounded by his life’s detritus work. Breathing in his sixty years of familiarity, the most peculiar feeling of temptation for new air suddenly began to grow.

Albert takes a final deep breath and gazes out the window before he decidedly places down his mug of tea. “Enough is enough!” he thought to himself as he rises from his chair and makes his way to the old darkened cupboard. His feet come to rapid halt as he passes by an antique mirror. He brings his hand to his weathered face as if he hadn’t seen his own reflection in many years. Wrinkled and grey with a little trace of a smile. Time has begun to run past him, he reflects, soon he too will be part of his collection of history.

The weight of this makes its way to Albert’s shoulders and he finds himself reaching for an old book to grasp as comfort. He spends some time like this; engulfed in the warmth of his treasures.

Only the thought of Annabelle’s letters begin to assist him to his feet. What sweet grace fell upon him that momentous morning, Albert was unsure but he felt grateful none the less. He allows himself to dream of the worlds she has seen.

Mad thoughts of adventure gather within his mind as he opens the little black book to reveal a map of the world within his palm.

Two years had flown by. How trapped he had become within himself in the process of protecting the world from the virus. How painful it has been to sit within old memories. Now as the borders open and life begins as normal he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. A need so strong it could not be ignored. How would he spend the rest of his time on this earth? Towered under his own misfortunes and loneliness? Reading books of a world he has yet to experience?

He was content with the way his life was spent but as that feeling of benign contentment begins to melt away, it brings light to a more exhilarating sensation. He opens the little black book. Morocco, Brazil, Spain, America, France, Sri Lanka: they all dance on the pages, begging him to join them in their world.

Albert begins to take the time to write a list and a budget that seems far beyond anything he had ever possessed.

As if it was the simplest thing, he enters the battle of the objects in search of garbage bags. Finding them, with one swift movement the bags drift open and begin to demolish Albert’s world.

However, not one thought of this enters into his mind; he simply puts on The Jungle Book album, pours himself a glass of champagne and begins to pack. No attachment nor nostalgia taking over or tear to leave his eye, he just dances to the music and packs.

Within one week his home became a maze of boxes and bags and within another a simple room with nothing but a chair and a lamp. Albert sits and counts the final earnings of his sales. Everything of value was sold, spreading new meanings to others’ lives. Within Albert’s reach was $20,000.

With his new riches, Albert finds himself not long after, on a train from Ella to Kandy, in Sri Lanka. This was second on the list from Annabelle’s letters and Albert could understand why she spoke so warmly of the place. With one arm grasping the rail, the rest of his body dangled from the side. The rush of hanging out of a moving train, to his surprise, offers tranquility rather than trepidation. He travels through tea fields, untamed jungles and mountains with views that take his breath away. Allowing the warm humid air to soak his body, he closes eyes. Finally at peace. Albert’s Antiques, could not of felt more like a distant planet. Eventually, he arrives at his hotel, kindly greeted by a welcoming mother and taken to his room. His usually docile hair, wind- blown and wild from the ride. He stares out the window that overlooks the town below. Caressed by the surrounding mountains, he had not dreamed such beauty would ever reach his eyes.

A sensation of joy bubbles inside him. How beautiful the world is, how grateful he was to be apart of it. With this came complete calmness. Albert, exhausted from the journey lies down upon his bed; at peace with his time on earth he falls into a deep and endless sleep and accepts his final moments with a warm welcome.