Livingstone&Cavell-Extraordinary Toys ~ Short Story

It was 7:30 pm, I was finished my late shift in the office. As I packed up papers into my brief case, I scanned over my planner at the reports due in less than a week. All my hopes of relaxation over the holiday were simply out of sight. My boss frankly took advantage of my lonely life over the season, so much so I didn’t mind. With no family living close by, all I received on Christmas was a long distance call with my Aunt and a package of mint tea from the gentle old lady within the apartment complex. I pushed the revolving door, and stepped outside in relief. I was free (well until tomorrow).

Swiftly I made my way towards the transit stop where the bus pulled up by the curb. The bus was empty, for only a older man clenching onto his handbag was sitting by the window with headphones in. I sat down in the back, as the bus took off. Unzipping my purse, I glanced at my phone “no messages” I placed it back. Gazing up above through the window at the blurry lights of buildings and vehicles, my eyelids drooped and grew heavy.

I woke up startled, my head twitching back and fourth looking all around me. I had no clue where I was, the bus started to slow down. I quickly jutted out of the bus as soon as it stopped, it was 8:15 pm. The street lights guided me. I started to contemplate everything, how terrible this night was going, how much I wanted to be home, how much I disliked my job that I worked so hard for. I tucked in my scarf, as the cold bitter wind crept down my neck.

Everything was closed, you could here faint classical music playing throughout the street (in order to stop loitering). Though I was tired, cold and unknowing of where I was; I found the music soothing. I tried to scan for anything familiar, I felt Déjà vu rush through me as I recognized a small toy store. It was nuzzled in a corner, perfectly placed. The store was painted like an ornament red, with green trim framing the windows. As twinkling golden lights flickered in tranquility. I read out to myself the store’s sign, “Livingstone & Cavell extraordinary toys”. As if a gust of memory, blew through me I remembered. I was reminded of my Father, my small hands and my wide eyes and my laughter. He used to always take me here.

I approached the door, as it had gold outlines, and paint slightly chipped away around the door knob. There were lights still kept on, and the “OPEN” sign wasn’t flipped. I opened the door and closed it behind me as a gush of warm air enveloped my body. Walking up the stairs my eyes lit up with life, as I stepped back into my childhood again. Bright bursting colors filled the store, everything was decorated from the shelves to the cashier desk. I was amazed, as I began searching throughout the store. With each corner of the store each memory I had remembered became vivid, like a film. It was a harmony before my eyes, looking through to the past. My mind fluttering with flashbacks, then everything froze.

“Can I help you?” I turned around caught of guard.

“Oh no… I’m sorry, you probably are closing the store right now. I just got lost and your store was the only one that was open.” I replied nervously.

“Well sometimes I like to keep it open late, for customers like you to come in.” he said with a chuckle

The creases of his eyes squinted, his forehead crinkled, as he lifted his gray bushy eyebrows. His cheeks grew with color, as he smiled with care.

“Looks like you had a long day.” The old man said as he pushed up his wide glasses, “You know we don’t get a lot of business people here.”

“Yeah you could say that and well I don’t usually fall asleep on the bus and miss my stop.” I responded

We both laughed.

“What’s your name dear?” he asked.

“Lauren, yours ?”

“Nice to meet you, and the name is Charles.”

He started to pick up and straighten out toys, to put back on the shelves. As I continued to search around the store aimlessly, fiddling with trinkets.

“You know Charles, I have been here before.” I told him as I spun a spinning top.

“Really now? What is your favorite toy?”

“As a kid, my Dad used to take me and we would always get a wind up music box together. We would then bring it home, place it on the shelf with our collection. He would wind it up, and I would stand on his feet as we danced around the room.”

“Do you still collect them, you and your father?” Charles responded as he glanced over and smiled.

“No, no we don’t.” My smile dropped and my heart felt heavy in my chest. “He past away years ago.”

He came closer to me, as his eyes glowed with sincerity. He sat me down as he knelt.

He spoke gently,”I am so sorry about your Father, Lauren.”

I chocked as a tear rushed down my face. “It’s.. It’s okay, I stopped collecting them when he died, it was just to hard.”

Charles held my hand in generosity,”I want to give you something, in memory of your father.”

I wiped my tears from my face, as he got up quickly.

I stood up, as he brought out a box. “You really don’t have to do this for me Charles.”

“I want to do this for you, because you remind me of my daughter.”

I unfolded the box and pulled out a snow globe, I wound it up as it played Silent night.

It was beautiful, inside was the small toy store painted red and green, lights hung along the window.  As snow cascades a layer along the roof. A Father in a winter coat and a little girl with pink snow boots and toque, there they stand holding hands in front of Livingstone & Cavell Extraordinary Toys.

“This means so much to me, Thank you Charlie.”

 It was 10:00 pm, I am happy and not alone.


Picture Credits: Livingstone&Cavell

This short story is based on my favorite toy shop growing up; Livingstone & Cavell in Kensington,Calgary.

The Good Old’ Days~ Grandpa Interview

Nova Scotia- 1950

The easier times in life; childhood. The mornings where you were up as soon as the bright June sun peered from the horizon; no moment of day shall be wasted. Silence would be broken by the rustle of farm animals, as they scavenged for left overs. The honking of geese and screeching of seagulls.  There sat a small boy staring out a dusty window; he gazed at the coast. Far beyond the rocky cliff a lighthouse stood symmetrical as it shaded the dew grass. He pondered in disposition, of the world he wish to know, the places yet to be discovered. He was hopeful that one day he could live his dream of traveling. Though just a boy with small hands and wide eyes, he never doubted his dreams. In his mind anything could be possible.

The boy dressed in tattered overalls and muddy boots, skipped down the crooked wood stairs. To meet his family surrounded around the table, breakfasts consisted of eggs fresh from the chicken coop and stale farm bread. “Charlie, hand over the butter.”his mom had gestured with a joyful smile. His mind wondering, snapped back into reality as he passed the butter plate. Ronnie the eldest brother nudged Charlie teasingly, “stop day-dreaming kid.” as Charlie smirked in disregard. The family discussed of plans, and the small towns news and events coming up.

The lifestyle where weather would decide the fate of the day, if it was sunny – it was work day. The brothers and father set off to work, the hay they had gathered in heaps towered over Charlie’s head as his head tilted way up to see the top of the pile. Following in his older brothers footsteps he clasped a pitchfork and began to stab scooping the dry hay into the wagon. The early morning grew to mid-day as they road the wagon down to the valley. His legs dangled from side to side as the wagon trotted along a narrow path with the power of their work horse; Pat. By the end of the long day, when they came back Mom would be sitting on the porch waving and greeting them home. Where a cold treat would be waiting for them, cold spring water with molasses and oat meal. It was in times like these, memories were formed and everything was soaked in. The day break sea air flooded your lungs and awakened your senses. This was home he thought to him self. This is where he truly belonged, no matter how far he traveled. No matter how old he grew, this would be the definition of “home”. Though this world is ever-changing, what will never change is the memories you hold dear.


Some quotes my Grandpa says-

“It’s all about the little things.”

“If I had a dime for every time someone told me I couldn’t, boy I’d be rich.”

“The proof is in the pudding.”

“Call a spade a spade.”

“Don’t worry unless it’s worth worrying about.”

 

The Last Goodbye – Narrative Non-Fiction

 

Image credit: Farewell 

The level was quiet, yet cackling coughs and the beeps of heart monitors seemed to echo through the narrow halls. Artificial light covered the paste white walls, dull and lifeless. It was as if the place hadn’t seen the light of day. Death seemed to creep along the walls, and ooze through the elevator doors. It was as if bad luck would follow your trail, like a shadow. As we sat waiting in silence, I couldn’t digest how people could stay in here. I would grow sick of being imprisoned. Everything was cold, as warmth vanished from the building. It was as if joy was sucked dry of this place, depress would way on your shoulders. The white walls seemed to in close around me, I clutched my arms feeling claustrophobic. It was as if your mind couldn’t breathe, everything mourned.

 We approached a desk to ask where her room was, the nurse nodded sincerely and directed us down the hall. It was a year since I had seen her, and I would of never thought to meet her again here. As we passed several patients’ room’s, we finally arrived outside hers. The wooden light brown door was opened slightly, I could see her weakened face. I stared in shock of how different she appeared now, my mind rapidly viewing memories of her. As I was lost in my emotions, the nurse insisted to put gloves and an apron on. She was my family why did I have to protect myself from her? I then fully gowned, stepped closer to the door hesitant. My mind resisted to see her, she was ill. This memory of her now, I didn’t want to stick with me. My heart will remember her as herself.

My head peered around the door way, and her head turned to match her gaze with mine, she was beautiful. Her eyes glistened with love, with the little strength she had, she opened her arms to hug me. As I squeezed her gently, I felt her body shake. As she spoke with joy, her gentle smile lit the room with a effervescent glow. Her face was puffy as it muffled her soft voice as she tried to speak to me. We spoke for hours catching up, as I felt like back home during the holidays as she would sip wine and discuss the delight in the world.

My heart fell limp, as I recollected our visits, though it was rare it held a special place in my heart. She was joyful during the holidays as she would hum Christmas melodies, while decadently wrapping gifts. As a kid I was amazed at how detailed and precise she was with everything. She persisted to put all her effort into the people she loved. She would stroll around the kitchen, with a glowing smile as she mixed together delicious recipes, acknowledging my glances. Once the food was done, the house would envelope in a heavenly smell. Drifting back to reality, all I smelt as I inhaled was disinfectant wipes and dust. My memories so filled with life, though I faced bitter before me. She was made for more than this, her hope consumed by darkness.

 She fell optimistic, as she spoke the words, “I will get better.” Only to be stronger for us all because she knew we weren’t ready to face the sorrowful truth.  I grabbed her fragile hands, as her skin transparent; veins colored her skin with a bruised pigment. I felt the cold of her finger tips seep through my gloves, she was growing tired. I had to leave and say farewell, despite my heart pleading to stay longer. It’s in times like these you realize that we all reach a deadline, and time if never-ending. Though my time with her in this world has now faded away, our souls will meet again.

~ Dedicated for my Grandma ~

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