Sincerely, Vintage

Part 19

Vince

Life didn't give Vince a five-second head start. It pounced as soon as he opened his eyes. He took a deep breath and sat up, pulling his quilt up around his shoulders. He'd slept out on the balcony again like he always did when he needed to think. It helped in some mysterious way.

Above the buildings, the sky was barely turning orange. He drew the blanket tighter against the chill in the air. Somehow, it managed to burrow through his layers, washing into his bones and settling in his ribcage like mist. One thought emerged from the fog with crystal clarity.

This is it.

Even though the fog tried to keep him still, he picked himself up and went inside, the blanket dragging behind him like a cape. He moved slowly and quietly, picking out his favorite sweatshirt and the sweatpants he'd worn until they became butter soft. Before he left, he stopped to tuck the bits and pieces of his projects into neat bundles on his desk. A small smile drifted across his face as he worked.

It's nice to see the tabletop every once in a while.

As he stepped out onto the street, the sun was barely rising. The streets were much quieter this time of the morning, quiet enough that his footsteps sounded loud against the concrete. He took his time as he walked. The streets would have made a beautiful photograph, he realized, painted in light and shadow like this. He really needed to hunt around for some more film one of these days.

When he turned onto the market's street, it looked like a much less vibrant version of itself. The brightly colored tables and chairs usually set out in front of the vendors were stacked beside stands shrouded in cloth. The space felt practically deserving of reverence, so Vince passed through quietly, keeping his hands in his pockets like he would in an antique shop.

The gesture brought back an unexpected memory. As Vince sat down at their table and pulled out his latest project, the moment came to life in his head.

He'd tagged along on one of Hrida and Tracey's thrift shop outings. They hadn't been looking for anything in particular, but he clearly remembered the way Tracey's face lit up when she found an incomplete tea set in a beat-up cardboard box. She and Hrida had a tradition of sharing their finds, so they each took a tea cup.

Vince walked Tracey home afterward. He wished he could remember what they'd talked about. When she came through the door, Tracey put her bag down hard, not thinking, and the sound of breaking china echoed in the silence. He'd never seen Tracey that close to tears. She almost threw herself to her knees, pawing through the bag until she reached the bundle of tissue paper at the bottom. Just looking at it, Vince could tell it was broken by the way it had folded in on itself.

When Tracey unwrapped it, the fragments opened up in her hands like a tragic version of a flower.

"Hey, it's okay." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her hands and the broken teacup in his. "Let me fix it."

He stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, reconstructing the cup piece by piece. At some point, he must've dozed off; he woke up to sleepy wrinkles on his face and the finished teacup lit from within by the morning sun.

"It's a Japanese tradition," he explained to Tracey later. "When a dish breaks, they fill in the cracks with gold. Even though it's broken, it's still beautiful."

Tracey smiled at him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you."

When Vince looked up, he was still in the cafe. The room had filled in with customers, and Tracey, Hrida and Derrick had arrived without him noticing. No one spoke. Across the table, Hrida rested her head on Derrick's shoulder, eyes closed. Tracey stared into her black coffee like it held the answers to all their problems.