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Sollie Cracks Some Eggs and a Couple of Smiles
It is just Dad and me today, tooling around in his truck, looking for something fun to do.
My name is Sollie, and thanks for reading this story, copied just for you from my red velvet diary.
Today goes like this. Since I’m too young to drive, Dad gets to decide where we will go and where we will not go. Just between you and me, I know that I’m his favorite daughter, mainly because I am his only daughter. So, actually, Dad will take me just about anywhere I ask, unless it’s too far away or too dangerous.
“Let’s go to the Museum of Fond Memories and see what’s there today!” I act more enthusiastic than I plan, because, even though I pretend to make a tough decision, the old book store is where I want to go all along.
Dad grins and turns the car toward Downtown. It’s Saturday and I don’t notice much traffic, so basically Dad has nothing to grumble about.
Now I’m rushing into the book shop, the Museum of Fond Memories, trying not to show too much excitement. But I am excited, even though I try to keep it to myself. I go down the aisle of the old store, speaking to Mister Reed, who owns it and who always smiles a big smile when he sees me. He and I have a secret. We can read each others’ minds. We both love all these old books and toys and statues and strange objects. We can tell just by looking at each other.
Now I have arrived at my destination, an old metal tub filled with “doodads,” according to the sign. It’s the doodads I love the most. I’m scraping away layers of key chains, bottle openers, marbles, small dolls, tiny shoes, billfolds and all kinds of collecting kinds of stuff. The great thing about the tub is everything in here is fifty cents each! I know I can get an armful of loot for a few dollars.
Dad is wandering around, looking at an ancient book, examining an old bookend, reading the sleeve of a vinyl recording. Me, I’m just digging for loot.
Today, the old tub is different. Inside, among the toys and keepsakes, some large plastic colored eggs are scattered. Really. These are oversized eggs, and they have been sealed up so that you can’t open them right there in the store. I pick one up and shake it, holding it close to my ear. Something is inside. I grab another egg and shake it, and I notice that each egg feels differently, some heavier, some lighter, but all of them definitely filled with things ready to be taken home.
I have got to have these eggs.
I walk up to Dad, holding four eggs and grinning up at him. “Dad, this is what I want.”
Dad says, “That’s it? That’s all you want?”
“Yes, yes.” What I don’t tell him is I want to take the eggs with me and open them in the truck, just to see what’s inside.
I show Mister Reed the eggs. He charges me two dollars, raises an eyebrow, and says, “There is treasure in each egg. Are you ready for it?”
I nod and smile and wish him a good day.
Inside the truck, Dad helps me peel the tape off each egg. I begIn to open them. All kinds of surprises and prizes fall into my lap. A necklace. An earring. A polished rock. A bouncing ball. A toy soldier. A tiny baby shoe. A small wrench.
And so on.
I open all the eggs and start organizing the contents into Baggies. When I’m through, I look at Dad. He looks at me. Finally, he says, “Want to go get some more?”
I squeal and dash back into the shop, where Mister Reed seems to be expecting me.
“Glad you’re back,” he says.
I start picking up more eggs to buy. Dad helps me. Pretty soon, we have decided to get them all, all seventeen of them. I know I won’t be satisfied with less.
Mister Reed looks at me, fills a bag with my loot, and tells me to come back soon, that maybe, just maybe, there may be more treasure eggs by the time I return. Why do I have the feeling that he packed these eggs just for me?
Dad and I sit in the truck until all the eggs are emptied and their contents sorted.
I look at Dad. “How will Mister Reed be able to sell me more eggs if I’ve bought them all?”
Dad frowns, thinks, says, “Why don’t we give him the egg shells?”
Sometimes dads have great ideas.
Mister Reed and I stare at each other for a second while I return the eggs. We don’t have to say anything because, as I said in my red velvet diary, he and I can read each others’ minds.
“I’ll be back,” I yell to him as I head for the door.
“I know, I know,” Mister Reed says, as he starts helping another customer at the Museum of Fond Memories
© Jim Reed 2015 A.D.
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