I am the glass doorknob.
I currently reside inside this wooden crate, along with a variety of
lessor knobs, and handles. During my
day, I sparkled and opened a door that only a privileged few could enter. Never, however, did any stranger grab me. It was always just William, the doorman. William and I go back years. Boy, the stories I could tell you.
Now, resting quietly within this antique shop, I seem
unimportant, common. I have been tossed
aside with no more value than a picket fence without a yard. Most of the items here in the shop aren’t impressed
when I mention who I let enter. I guess
that isn’t so important anymore.
I know that table lamp over there thinks she’s hot
stuff. She came in with those end tables
and that pedestal ashtray. Personally, I
don’t care for the fringe around her shade.
It’s just a little gaudy if you ask me.
She thinks she’s so bright. A bit
of a smart aleck, I’d say.
I don’t think anyone has ever heard a peep from the ashtray. He just stands there, not even looking
around. He seems so sad. Maybe ashamed of what he is, of what he stood
for all those years. Surrounded by thick
clouds of smoke, covered in ash… what’s there to be proud of? I’d be willing to bet, however, that he’s
heard some juicy gossip, back-room deals, maybe even government secrets. I don’t see anyone buying him anytime soon.
I hear customers sometimes saying there is a musty smell in
here. I, of course, can’t smell
anything, but based on the age of this store, it probably does have some kind
of odor. I’ve never seen anyone mopping
the floor. They are old, wooden floors,
that squeak under the weight of the people walking around. The windows are never opened. I doubt the owner has ever considered letting
some fresh air in here. Boy, wouldn’t
that be nice. Fresh air and sunlight,
even for just an hour. How nice would
that be?
Well, I see little Mrs. Snooty lamp has been marked down. I wonder what kind of spin she’ll put on that.
Hey! That large
painting is gone. That’s a shame, I
liked that picture. It always reminded
me of something… I forget what, but I
always got a good feeling looking at it. The colors were warm and inviting, and
it always looked so familiar. I can
almost think of what it reminded me of.
Nuts, that’s going to fester.
What was that?
The little bell over the front door just tinkled. Someone is coming in. Maybe someone looking for a glass
doorknob. Who knows? Never mind. I’m not holding my breath.
Saturday – a week ago, just after closing, the
pedestal ashtray spoke to us.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t been very friendly.” No one else said anything, but Mrs. Snooty
lamp clicked her light on.
“Actually, until now,
I didn’t really know if I should say anything or not.”
Still, no one else spoke.
“I used to be in a private club. Only members were allowed in. It really was very exclusive. The thing is, I was always in a position to
see things, and especially to hear things.
I always knew what was going on, who was in favor, who owed money to whom,
and so on”.
Everything in the old antique shop was listening. This was amazing. The ashtray was spilling his guts. Of course, none of us knew why all of a sudden
he decided to talk, but that didn’t matter.
Everyone was hanging on every word.
“From what I can tell, it all started with a Lotto
ticket. As best as I can tell, it was
folded in with a twenty-dollar bill that was handed to the doorman as a tip.
William, the doorman noticed it right away and tried to hand
it back to the gentleman who had handed it to him, but the man refused to take
it back. William ended up getting 11 million
from the state lotto commission.”
I couldn’t help it, I had to speak up. “I knew William. I was the glass doorknob he used for all
those years.”
“Then you must have missed him. He was in here the other week and bought the
painting that was hanging on that wall over there.”
It was then I suddenly remembered where I had seen that
painting before. It had hung in the club
for years.
to be continued
