The Auction

Part I: The Auction

I honestly did not want to come to this thing, but Walter insisted, and I couldn't say no to him. So here I am, pushing him around in this wheelchair, doing my best to navigate the bumpy terrain of the grassy field. It's not ideal, and I can see the discomfort etched on his face, but I keep him steady, my hands gripping the handles tightly as we weave through the crowd.

"Daniel," Walter says, his voice barely above a whisper, followed by a congested cough that echoes the struggle of his Stage 4 colon cancer. It's become our routine—me taking him out for as many experiences as I can while he's still here, because each outing feels like a small victory against the relentless march of his illness.

"Yes, Walter?" I ask, ready to fulfill whatever small wish he has left. He lifts his wrinkled finger, and my gaze follows his shaky gesture to a lemonade stand that looks refreshingly inviting against the backdrop of the warm afternoon sun.

"One fresh lemonade coming right up." I start to push the wheelchair in that direction, but as I do, my attention is drawn to a voice rambling in the distance. A lady stands next to a storage locker, surrounded by boxes stacked precariously, teetering like a Jenga tower ready to collapse. She's mumbling numbers to a small crowd gathered before her, and an odd curiosity tugs at me, pulling my focus away from the lemonade.

As I reach the stand, I turn back to Walter, determined to make this outing special for him. "What flavor do you want, Walter?" I ask, making sure my voice carries over the hum of chatter around us.

"I think I'll take that of which doesn't exist—blue raspberry, please, kind lady." The woman behind the counter smiles, though her enthusiasm is clearly forced. She turns her back to prepare his drink, but I can still hear the woman by the storage unit, her voice a faint melody of numbers and mystery.

I hand over a ten-dollar bill, feeling the weight of the change as it clinks into my palm. As I start to wheel Walter away, that same voice drifts through the air again, beckoning me closer. I can't shake the feeling that I'm being called to that storage unit, the possibility of hidden treasures igniting a flicker of excitement within me. Maybe I could find some old baseball cards tucked away in one of those boxes.

"Daniel, I want to go check out the storage unit over there, please." Walter's voice interrupts my thoughts, and I can't help but smile at his sudden enthusiasm.

"Of course, your wish is my command," I reply, masking my own excitement as we make our way over, passing booths filled with handmade crafts and home-baked goods. People really go all out for these fundraisers, and I can't help but appreciate the sense of community woven through the vibrant chaos.

Once we reach the unit, I begin scanning the area for anything that stands out, but it's the woman rifling through a box at her feet who catches my eye. As if sensing our presence, she pops up, her expression shifting to one of genuine interest.

"Well hello, you two fine gentlemen! How are you doing this evening? Looking to buy?" Her voice is warm, but there's a hint of something enigmatic beneath her friendly exterior.

She asks how we're doing, but I can't help but wonder if she really cares.

"We're doing fine this lovely evening, and you?" Walter responds in his charming, raspy voice, his eyes sparkling with mischief despite his frailty.

"Well, I'm doing alright," she smiles, then continues, "but I'd be doing better if you boys wanted to buy some of my treasures." Her tone suggests an invitation that feels impossible to decline.

"What do you have to offer?" The words escape my mouth before I even realize it. A thrill dances in my chest, and I struggle to conceal my excitement. I'm not sure why I feel ashamed of my lingering love for baseball cards, but it's a childhood passion that still tugs at my heart.

With a flick of her wrist, she reveals an old typewriter, a ballpoint pen that looks like it has seen better days, and a rusty small key. I watch as she delicately places each item onto the makeshift table beside us. My heart sinks a little; none of these items are baseball cards.

Looking down at the collection, I feel a wave of uncertainty wash over me. "Got any baseball cards in those boxes?" I ask, attempting to mask my disappointment with a grin.

"I'm sorry, honey. I've gone through every box in this unit, and no baseball cards have revealed themselves. But if you're looking for something interesting, I've got this old key labeled 'Locker 47.' There ain't no locker in this storage unit that it would fit, so I did a little digging and found out there's an old rundown facility on the outskirts of this town to which this might belong."

"Might?" I said, my curiosity piqued.

"That's what I said." She grins, a twinkle in her eye.

"Well, why would I want to buy it if it 'might' go to something that I'm not even sure where it's at?"

"Well, that right there is up to you, ain't it? Don't you want a little fun and mystery in your life? Looks like Walter has had his fill," she motions down toward Walter's tilted head, "but you? You look like you might enjoy wandering into the unknown."

She's not entirely wrong; a part of me has missed that thrill. But I left the life of treasure hunting behind a few years ago. In my mind, it's not worth much when you need a 'real job.'

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's not really worth my time. I'm sorry for wasting yours. I wish you luck selling all your items." I start to turn away, ready to leave behind this moment of temptation, but she stops me dead in my tracks.

"Wait! Before you go, just remember—sometimes the things we walk away from are the very things that lead us back to who we really are. You may not see it now, but this key could unlock more than just a door; it could unlock memories you thought you buried. Are you really ready to close that chapter for good?"

In that moment, thoughts of my dad flood back—memories of rushing down the slide to meet him at the bottom, throwing the baseball around in the backyard, and watching sunsets with ice cream cones in hand. But all those moments are eclipsed by the reality of his absence; he chose to leave us when I was just a kid.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of nostalgia. I don't care to know why he left. I certainly don't need this key from this strange woman.

"Fifteen bucks," I blurt out, my voice surprising even me.

"Fifty bucks, and she's all yours," she counters immediately, her smile unwavering.

"Thirty bucks, take it or leave it." What is wrong with me? Why am I bargaining for an old key, let alone paying 30 bucks for? I see a giant smile spread across her face as we shake hands, sealing the deal before I can rethink it.

Next thing I know, I'm walking away, key in hand, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

"That was a good choice," Walter's voice startles me.

"Walter, I thought you were asleep?" I ask, incredulous.

"Sleeping is for when you're dead. Now come on, let's hit some of those tables. I've got money burning a hole in my pocket." I chuckle, shaking my head as I begin to push him forward. But just as we start to leave, he pauses, and I can tell he's savoring the moment.

"Oh, and Daniel," he adds, his tone serious.

"Yes, Walter?" I reply, my curiosity piqued.

He pauses for dramatic effect, his eyes glinting with something almost mischievous. "Don't lose that key."

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