Thrift Store Bargains

Carl Scharwath

Thrift stores seem to be everywhere, germinating from the shells of abandoned strip-malls and filling the facades of failed businesses with new economic realities.

Today was my turn to visit one. The dawn greeted me with a liquid atmosphere releasing droplets of gray. Cheap paperback novel gray that is the lighting of a living room set and I-Sofia the actress has begun to fill the scene. My husband Gary of thirty years was laid off from his management job and two years later has still not found a new career. Our home is in foreclosure and we have a seventeen-year-old daughter soon to enter college. 

Today as he sleeps late on a weekday, oblivious to our financial fate, my order is to find him a decent used suit for his job interview. The new thrift store, one block from our house might just fill the need and I have always been curious what surprises and treasures might present themselves. In the parking lot, the cracks already were consumed by nature, the grass attempting to break free of the confinement and breathe again. The new thrift store contained high-end clothing from estate sales, so I was sure to find a nice suit for my husband. The entrance was marked door which seemed odd. however, the window appeared as a dream. Beautiful dresses cloaked in the reflections of kissing clouds. The colors of a prism beckoned me to fly through the molecules of glass and return to my high school age where my life could start over and the future was mine to decide.

Gary became a coward two years ago the first time he hit me. His job loss caused a change in him, the drinking and coming home late from God knows where. He made me believe I was to blame for all his problems, and this culminated in constant physical and emotional abuse.

My mother worshiped Gary and made a choice that her daughter would marry him after college graduation. She concluded he would be successful and forever loving. 

I wonder what she would think now. Her daughter covering the bruises with makeup, her self-esteem a memory, thoughts about suicide, and having to lie to her daughter about her artificially wonderful father.

Everything was always planned for me and in my own subdued personality; I felt my life was not mine to have. The love once held for my husband turned to hatred and the suit to be bought today I dreamed one day to bury him in.

The thrift store was amazing, with so many things to discover. The collection of used books held my attention for more than an hour as I always revealed in the discovery of finding a new author or great story. I was an English major who always wanted to be a writer; till the household duties, raising a daughter and pleasing my husband slowly sucked any creative life from me.

The suit hung alone and was the deepest black color I could ever imagine. The way it silhouetted the bright yellow wall caused me to imagine an abstract painting of a man's torso attempting to free himself from his captivity.

The suit -beautiful and hardly worn- was now in my possession. I apprehensively viewed the tag and the size was perfect for my husband. Although my love for Gary was long gone, I still wanted to do something special for him in his time of need.

Gary would be home, and I wanted to surprise him before taking the outfit to the cleaners. While in the car at a traffic light, I moved the suit higher against the seat and felt something in the top pocket. What great mystery would announce itself in my hands?

My heartbeat increased as a familiar face was created in the graying atmosphere of the picture. My high school prom photo and me with a smug Mona-Lisa smile oblivious to how my future would turn against me. When the picture was turned over there were words, smudged and faded into oblivion and forever silent 

Shaking, I had to pull over to the side of the road to Google Ames, who was my lover for four years till my mother coerced me to break up with him. His crime to her was quitting college after the first semester. Mom was happy to remind me that my boyfriend would never amount to anything. I started to cry, as the first entry staring at me was an obituary announcing his death at fifty years old. Ames died three weeks ago, and I would for eternity never have the chance to say goodbye and I love you. Through my tears, I continued to read he did not marry and owned five clothing stores.

When I began to drive again, I knew what I had to do. Drive to my favorite secluded woods overlooking the town, open the glove box, and gently lay the tiny handgun I carried for protection in my lap. My husband, the failure, the wife-beater would have his final note from me. A suicide note placed in the top pocket of the suit with the bloodstains of his wife who made a wrong decision long ago and now only wanted to be with Ames and die with his picture at her side.

The gun was at my temple when the horror of my face reflected in the rear-view mirror. I seemed younger, so young I seemed to transform into my daughter's being. How could the past continue to make the choice for my future? My daughter needed her mother's love, Ames would never forgive me, and I defiantly placed the gun back to the emptiness of a near mistake. Today would become my second chance and the future now is mine to control. The suicide note would be replaced with a letter proclaiming my future and demanding a divorce.

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Carl Scharwath, has appeared globally with 150+ journals selecting his poetry, short stories, interviews, essays, plays or art photography (His photography was featured on the cover of 6 journals.) Two poetry books 'Journey To Become Forgotten' (Kind of a Hurricane Press).and 'Abandoned' (ScarsTv) have been published. His first photography book was recently published by Praxis. Carl is the art editor for both Minute Magazine and ILA Magazine, a competitive runner and 2nd degree black- belt in Taekwondo. 

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