The Man with The Typewriter

Prologue: June 21, 2018 (Boston Massachusetts) Mila

Authors Note: Thank you everyone for giving this novel a shot! This is something that I have been working very hard on! I hope you like it as much as I do :))                                                        ..............................................................................................................................................

When I walked into Over The Hills Antique Shop, I never expected to see so many valuable treasures. I never expected to see paintings all over the shop that all spoke out to me in some way. Walking through the shop slowly, I eye all the unique objects in pleasure. How can all of these objects be given up from their owners? I sigh in awe. They  all look so beautiful. 

I eventually walk over to a golden mirror that hangs on the brown wall. I stare at my reflection in displeasure. I look at my auburn, pin straight hair that falls to my shoulders. I stare  for a while ay my eyebrows that have such an unique shape. Not like the other girls. I don't understand why it is so hard for me  to blend in with them. Why do I have to be so different? 

''Ms., interested in buying that mirror?''

I nearly jump in fear. A lady with long and thick ashen hair, pins me down with a deep stare as she impatiently waits for a much wanted response. Her face curls up in a frown as I respond in embarrassment, 

''No thank you.''

I then add with interest as I stare at it's etched in details longer, 

''This is really something. Do you how old this mirror is?''

She walks infont of me and lifts the back of the mirror up. I am now inches beside her as she huffs back with an aggregated tone, 

''It says here that this object was first bought by it's original owner in 1962. Now that I am looking at it, this may be above your price range..don't you think..Ms.-''

''Mila, Mila Grace. I think with my savings from my job at the Sundae School, ice-cream parlor and money I have saved from my birthday..I think I can make due with the price.''

She takes a deep breath and I becomes silent. Sometimes I have a problem of talking when it is not necessary.  Just as she starts walking away, she tells me,

''If you are still interested later, then tell me.''

I put my hands over my reddened face and think to myself, why do some people have to judge me on my appearance? I may not look as mature as the usual customers that enter, but I am capable of affording something that may look slightly more expensive.

When I take a step back, I hear a sudden bang and quickly turn back to catch it. I quickly then drop on my knees and catch the heavy typewriter that stings my hands from it's heavy weight. Sighing in relief for not destroying such an well kept antique, I lay it back on the wooden table and carefully step back as I eye this typewriter in curiosity. The buttons look used, but despite it's age, the buttons don't look loose. I look behind me and notice that the bitter women from earlier is in another room, yelling at another customer that enters the shop. My gut tells me that I must look at this longer. A man that had this at the time, must of kept it for a reason. I see a tag to the side that reads in bold letters, Smith-Corona typewriter, from 1942. 1942! I look just below the tag,  showing the owners name edged into it. I put my fingers over it in awe as it reads,

Luca Tomoni.. 

Luca...a man that must of had many ideas typed on to paper. Especially in a time like this, when our world was divided up. Where many loyal people risked their lives to fight for their loving homes and freedom. I take a picture of the typewriter on my phone immediately texting it to my sister. This typewriter reminds me of what my grandfather once loved. My grandfather was a writer, a writer that expressed his ideals through writing, not speech. After moments of myself drowning in my thoughts, I knew I had to purchase this. This is the item that I knew I would be walking home with. 

I walk up to another lady at the register, she eyes me with pleasure as I hand her the heavy typewriter with a sigh, 

''Why are you buying this? Did this speak out to you in some way?''

I read her old tag that peels off her long colorful dress. It reads, Sue. Sue eyes me with a grin as I respond with a laugh, 

''This reminded me of my grandfather. Good of a man he was, he was one that often spent his time writing poems that spoke of hope, anger and peace, through a typewriter that oddly looks like this one. Seeing this, I knew I had to get it..I just had that feeling. You know?''

''I exactly know what you mean. Now you know why I work here, out of all places!.. The total will be, $75.99. We only accept cash...''

She smiles as I hand her that exact change. She then opens up the door that releases the sound of bells as if this object I have bought is a celebration of new beginnings. She then waves bye to me as I thank her. 

The warm summer night invites me with the smell of hamburgers and hotdogs by the restaurants near by. As I walk these packed streets, past many wealthy shoppers, many people  eye me coldly as they see a teen like me holding a typewriter. I am used to their disapproving stares. I look at the ads that hang in every store. All of them include girls advertsing a perfume or clothing line, posing with a boy who wears almost nothing. Many cars speed past me, blaring loud rap music that tries to flow in my ears. I keep my head down from the occasional men that honk at me, often staring at my behind. 

Minutes pass, I eventually lift my head up as I hear Donna Summer's  popular song, Last Dance, blaring  by a shop beside me. I look at the shop name as it says in a odd font, Dina's Hair..'giving you that puffiness that you want!' The girl advertising for the store has full blond hair, up in a pink scrunchie, staring at a boy her age with black gelled up hair. Cars that look much older that usual, drive past me, the over powering scent of gas filling my nostrils. People bang into me and look at my typewriter as they scream with laughter, 

''Watch it!''

I keep my head down again and keep on walking. Minutes pass again, I am almost home..I look up to cross the street but this street that always seems so familiar to me, looks so unknown. As I wait to cross, I look at the women beside me. Her fashion strikes me. No one is this dressed up. Her face is turned away from me, revealing her black hat that lays tilting to one side of her head. Her hair is made of  blond curls pinned in a short due. Her cherry lips look bold against  her pale skin, her dress is as smooth as can be..long and crimson, down to her kneecaps. The outfit looks so modest with signs of vintage style intertwined. 

''Where to?''

She abruptly asks me with a sweet voice  as she still looks to her left. I look to the left also. All of these cars drive slowly by, each one looking different. I hear music in the background which features the smooth voice of Frank Sinatra. I heard many of his hits in the past, but this one sounds much older than his others. Women walk past us, but no men are to be seen. I look on the sides of many building seeing many sighs that hang in three overall colors. The patriotic colors of red, white and blue stand out among the gray walls behind them. One poster reads, 

''You give us the ''Fire,'' We'll give e'm hell!''

 I swallow hard and take a few extra seconds to respond to her as my head starts to spin in confusion. 

''This might sound weird..but I don't seem to know where I am actually going, I think I got lost.''

''Don't go into a decline! Where is the destination of where you want to go?''

''My home, I must of took the wrong turn. I don't mean to bother you. I apologize.''

''Bother me? I was just thinking that you may need a hand. I know this town inside and out.''

My head now hurts, really bad. I place my cool hand over my feverish head. This girls posture and  voice is making my surroundings seem even more unfamiliar.  I take a couple of steps back and fall against the brick buildings. I need something sturdy to lean against. I need to think about the route I just traveled from the store. The girl runs back, taking my hand helping me stand sturdy on my own two feet. 

''I may not know who you are but, you do need care. Please let me take you into my home, I'm sure my little boys have something waiting for us.''

This is all to much to take in. I try to wave off her gesture, but I am starting to feel too numb to even decline her offer. Eventually, she loops her arm around me and together, we walk off into the sunset.