Short Stories by Matt Slater

The Curious Store (AKA Tracing Patterns)

PG; Language

Time: 5:13 PM, May 5th, 2017

Location: Olympia, Washington

The rain platted on my umbrella as I ran inside. That whole stereotype about Washingtonians not using umbrellas? Not true right now. You've never seen rain like this.

I step inside and shake my umbrella off through the door before putting it in the stand. Then I turn around. Every other Friday, after class, I come to this store. No, they don't sell food or video games. This store was more about... the curiosities. From the fascinating to the bizarre, this store had items from all over the Pacific Northwest. Historical machines, artisan furniture, glass art, and odd-looking decor are only a part of this store's unusual inventory.

I first came here when I moved to Olympia from Tukwila back in '14. I didn't have many things to fill my apartment, so my mother took me around town to different stores to make my new place feel like home. After visiting several chain stores and warehouses, we decided to stop for a burger before heading back.

However, next door to the restaurant was this place I now frequent: The Curious Store. Throughout our lunch, my mind, for some inexplicable reason, kept wandering to this store. Was it the name? Or what the name was implying? When we walked out of the restaurant, I asked my mother if we could go in there. She sighed, saying we had already spent too much that day. However, she gave me an ultimatum: I can buy one item, for under $20 of my own money, as long as I meet her back at the car in ten minutes. I quickly thanked her and went in.

As soon as I opened the door, the spectrum of colors from the oddities immediately overwhelmed me. I was pulled inside purely by intrigue. My autistic brain spent the first three minutes cataloging every detail of the items I picked up. I wanted to look at everything in the store, but I also knew mom would be pissed if I dawdled too long. I looked around for any signage in the store that would lead me to something I would at least use instead of a weird trinket I'd only use once before tossing it onto the top shelf of my pantry, never to be seen again.

My eyes landed on the sign pointing towards the clothing area. At least clothing would be practical. As soon as I got there, I saw what I wanted: The perfect sweater. A yarn-woven, long-sleeved sweater with patterns that could keep my eyes occupied for days. A beautiful tapestry of blue, orange, purple, pink, and brown. Not colors you'd usually think of together, but they worked on this sweater. And I saw the price tag: $18.95. How lucky could you get?

When I went to pay for the sweater, I was stopped in my tracks by the man behind the counter. He was striking. His silver-green eyes made contact with my hazels. His short, black pompadour greatly contrasted my messy blonde waves. He smiled at me, his teeth sparkling like the rocks in his ears. I was hoping to God that I remembered to brush my teeth that morning.

"Did you want to ring that up for you?" he said, snapping me out of my stupor.

"Um... yes?" I squeaked out as if I wasn't sure.

I sweated like a crazy person. Because of course, I was nervous! Here he was, a well-groomed, put-together beauty of a man, while I stood in front of him in a wrinkled hoodie and a pair of sweatpants I'd been living in that entire weekend. I wish I had known that day that I'd be meeting a guy like him, but that's not how life works.

He put the sweater in a paper bag with the receipt and two wrapped mints. I blushed as I struggled to get my next words out.

"Thank you..." I started, glancing down at his nametag. "...Brandon."

"No problem... sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Christian."

"Nice to meet you, Christian. Feel free to come back anytime."