Resolutions | Carol

Conclusions

The days between me going back to work and Wednesday passed swiftly. I had since received word from Danny, saying that he and Phil were available on Friday and would arrive at our apartment at 10.00 a.m. Harge would be arriving an hour later. Which should, in theory, provide us with enough time to prepare. I had thought it over a million times in my head, drilling it like clockwork. Carol had asked what she could do in my absence, which I thought was sweet, I suggested she collect images of furniture and materials for inspiration. But I knew that she, similar to myself, would feel hollow and would panic if she began to overthink Friday. It was a terrible sensation, like watching a train hurtle towards you with no way of stopping it. Arguably the worst feeling is waiting for something you can neither aid or prevent. But she had created inspiration boards with materials and magazine cuttings, advertisements from newspapers which gave her an idea for pricing. On the Saturday, Carol and I went to my old apartment.  She has asked me to show her the things I wanted to take, there wasn't much, just the case she had once given me and a trunk of books. Carol also suggested that we sell the remaining items, so we meandered my rooms and took an inventory of all my possessions. Beside each item she would mark down a price she deemed suitable, written in her elegant cursive writing. I liked watching her take note of anything worth merit. She had a measuring tape and would bend over to take dimensions. I hadn't ever seen her face like that, apart from one occasion when she was talking about Harge. It turned to stone, scrutinising anything in her gaze, judging, analysing, with her brows lowered. Her lips often tightened, before relaxing into more of a pout. I liked how she would rest her hand on her hip when there was an interval. At one point she asked why I was staring at her, my response was a mere because I shan't begrudge myself of looking at beautiful things. She looked at me almost in disbelief, with a smile lingering in the corner of her mouth. At the end of the process she showed me the total and asked if it was appropriate. In actuality, I hadn't expected to get anything for what I used to own. It never had any importance to me, why should it now? I only nodded, because even though it seemed a lot of money I knew that this is what Carol believed it deserved.  We then went to an auction house, Carol described how each item looked and the price which was expected. The man who owned the auction house also managed the lots. He was a gaunt man, wearing a jacket and waistcoat. He looked like a train conductor, with a pocket watch, receding hairline and crescent shaped glasses which perched precariously on the end of a thin nose which bulged at the tip. His eyes were rather small, like a mole, and weathered with age. Creases embellished his forehead and around his mouth. He had told us he could have a truck around to pick up everything listed. He made a copy of the inventory and price list and as promised the truck arrived the following day. Carol thought that was very generous as most people would not work on a Sunday, but the gaunt man told her it was to be on display on Monday. For which he needed to check the conditions of the items and assess if they are worth what she said. The auction, he told us, will be held Tuesday morning so that only the dedicated folk will turn up. He told us that we should return Tuesday evening to collect a share of the money, if we had made any. It was later that Carol explained that the auction house will receive a fraction of what a lot earns, this would make the process worth it for themselves as well as us. Traditionally, she said, auction houses will give you cash upfront before your lot has been auctioned. I don't like this method, she stated, it means if they make any more money than expected they can keep it. That is why I visit this house, even though the owner has a stick so far up his own arse I am surprised he can stand up. I laughed at that, I always laughed at her casual cussing. It seemed such a contrast from her usual formalities, it made me feel youthful, and she did it soundly. Words which to others may seem coarse or offensive even, she could fluidly place into her dialect. On the Tuesday we went to collect the money, if anything of mine had been sold. The gaunt man looked smug as he passed us an envelope of dollars, there was a little less than expected, but I insisted that it was sufficient. I had just planned to leave the furniture there in the apartment for the next inhabitant to manage. Carol theorised that more money was made and he (meaning the gaunt man with the stick up his arse) was holding it for himself. Don't worry about it, I replied, I am honestly happy with what we got. More importantly it was a burden which I no longer had to worry about.