Light came straight through the front, cutting across the floor in a long stretch that stopped just short of the back wall. It shifted the room immediately. Took it from something closed to something in motion, making the decision for me to participate whether I was ready or not.
I stood there a second, taking it in. Then I turned and went back out to the car.
The box came out first. Worn at the edges, still taped tight because it had been waiting longer than it should’ve been. I carried it in against my hip and set it near the front window, crouching to pull the tape loose. Inside there were display pieces and small fixtures. Things that required decisions it took me months to face head-on.
I pulled one of the stands out and worked it open, fingers steady on the hinges until it locked. Set it down near the window, angled just enough to catch the light then stepped back. It still wasn’t right yet, but I was getting closer.
I went back for the chairs I’d put together earlier this week. I picked them up one by one to set them in the areas I’d mapped out for each one.
“You selling furniture now or you just moving it around for exercise?”
I was caught spacing them out, moving them in various angles, when the voice of my landlord carried across the room. Gerald’s voice came in smooth, like he’d been mid-thought before he even walked through the door.
I glanced up as he stepped inside, Styrofoam cup in one hand, the other brushing the door closed behind him without looking.
“Good morning, sir,” I said, straightening.
“Mornin’,” he replied, lifting the cup slightly before taking a sip.
His eyes moved across the room slow, not missing anything.
“You here early,” he added. “On a Saturday. Actually bringing supplies in. That’s how I know you serious now.”
“So the contractor I hired didn’t tip you off?” I huffed a small laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “I just couldn’t sit with it anymore. Had to start putting things somewhere.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, stepping closer to the chairs. Gerald looked down at them, then back at me. “They all don’t match.”
“They’re not supposed to.”
He nodded like that made sense to him, then took another sip of his coffee.
“You been building this in your head a long time,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“What made you stop waiting?”
I crouched near the box again, pulling out the second stand.
“Tired of it just being an idea,” I said. “Felt like I was stalling at some point.”
Gerald tilted his head slightly. “At some point?”
I glanced up at him.
“Recently,” I said. “Started feeling like if I kept waiting, I wasn’t going to recognize the man I was becoming.”
That was enough for him. He shifted his weight, looking around again, then nodded toward the back.
“You know what used to be here?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Record shop,” he said. “Man named Curtis ran it.”
I leaned back against the wall, folding my arms.
“He had a good run,” Gerald went on. “People came through steady. Not just buying. They’d come in to talk, listen… argue about what was worth taking home and what wasn’t. They came here building out their own soundtrack to help them navigate and sometimes cope with the world around them.”
