FICTION

Tom's Antique Shop

December 1, 2022 | Issue II | Luke Beling 

Robert Snow pounded his fist against his bedroom door. "Let me in, you selfish bitch!"

"You're drunk, Rob! You need help!”

Jacob winced as he heard his mother's screams. He cracked his door and watched his father retreat to the sofa in the living room.

The following morning, in the dark, Jeanie Snow sat at her study desk with a pen and a thick folder of documents. She heard Jake's gentle footsteps, then looked at him with red eyes and sagging cheeks. "We're getting a divorce, Son. I can't do it anymore." 

Jake didn't eat breakfast. He dressed for school, then walked four miles instead of catching a ride with his mother. Before the first bell, he cornered classmate Susie White. Rumors ran through town about the Whites, but nobody knew exactly how Steve White, former drug dealer, had magically turned into a squeaky-clean, church-on-Sundays, family-van kind of man.

Jake waited until Suzy was alone at her locker. "Suzy, I got to know. How'd your dad turn his life around? My mom's about to file for divorce." 

Suzy grabbed Jake by the collar and looked at him with a dead stare. "You got to get a mirror from Tom's Antique Shop. Whatever it takes." 

A week later, first day on the job, Jake moved a wet rag with care across the dark tinted window of Tom's Antique Shop. 

"You make sure your elbows don't smudge where you wipe. And once that soapy water gets too grimy, you clean the bucket out. I want my customers seeing their beautiful mugs on their way out of here. You hear me, Jake?" 

Jake twisted his neck to find Tom behind a desk piled higher than Livingston's Garbage Mound south of town. "I'll do my best.”

The high school senior went tiptoed and increased his hand speed, occasionally looking back at the shop's aisles, a picture of a giant ridgeback sitting on a sandy beach, a medieval-looking chair, and the door of a 1935 F35 Oldsmobile.Tom rose from his chair, smiling as he walked over, watching Jake stretch his lanky arms, touching the top of the glass without the help of a ladder. "Good thing you as long as a spruce."

Showing a full set of moon-white teeth in the window, Tom used his pinky to pick a piece of meat from his molars. 

"I got a meeting with a customer around noon today. Keep an eye on the place for me. You'll take your lunch after that."

Around noon, town mechanic, Rudy Greer, walked in, greased to his ears. Tom greeted Rudy with an excited tone. "You ready for the encounter of a lifetime, Rudy!?" 

Rudy held his gaze on his shoes, mumbled, and followed Tom to the back room. Thirty minutes later, the same sunken mechanic screamed into the hallway, hands touching the ceiling, legs bouncing up and down like pogo sticks. "It's been there all along! Everything I've ever wanted!" Jake watched Rudy stare at himself in the shop window, then hand Tom a stack of hundred-dollar bills. Tom shook Rudy's hand while giving him a mirror.

Heart thudding, Jake walked to the counter. "Must be one helluva mirror, Uncle Tom." 

Tom set the stack of cash in the till and grinned. "What my mirrors give people is worth more than all the money in the world."

Jake dragged a cloth against a dusty nightstand. "How much are they?" 

"A year's work for you." 

Jake dropped his elbows on Tom's counter. The boy's eyes had dark lines underneath them, heavy and sad-looking. He straightened, then stuck out his palm. "A year's work. You have my word."

Tom laughed. "You don't need a mirror. You're too young to be tainted by the cruelties of this life." 

Jake's hand sunk, and then his head. He put his eyes on a pile of gun magazines. His voice faltered. "It's for my dad." 

Tom leaned over and squeezed Jake's shoulder. "I'll tell you what. You get your dad in here to come see me, and we have a deal." 

The bright afternoon sun knifed through the tinted shop windows. Jake blocked the side of his face with his hand. He put his other hand in Tom's small palm and squeezed it until the glint in both their eyes faded with the ringing chimes. 

That night Jake lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. A screeching sound shot him to his feet moments before falling asleep.

Robert Snow thumped his fists against the front door and rattled the gate, shouting. "Open the door, Jeanie! You selfish bitch!"

The keys fell out of Jake's hands. "Relax, Dad. Take it easy. I'm here. Just a second." Rob stumbled forward with outstretched arms, falling into Jake's chest. Jake held his breath as Rob slouched, the stench of alcohol souring the scent of Jean's fresh-picked roses. "Where's that bitch of a mother you got?" 

Jake walked Rob to the living room, then dropped him on the long sofa. "Dad, I got something I want to ask you." 

Rob kicked off his shoes, adjusted the pillow, then craned his head. Eyes crisscrossing, Rob slurred his words. "What is it, Boy?" 

"I want you to come with me to Uncle Tom's Antique Shop and look into one of his mirrors."

A long silence made Jake anxious. He began drumming his fingers on his thighs. He was about to ask his father again when a loud cackle ripped the sheet-thin quiet. The laugh turned into a choking cough sound. Rob's eyes became stern. "For what? Your mother put you up to this?"

Hands moving into his pockets, gazing at the floor, then up at his father, Jake stepped closer. "So you and mom don't get a divorce. There's something special that happens when people look into Tom's mirrors. They change. I've seen it, Dad." 

Rob turned over so that his face buried into the side of the couch. He spoke with a muffled voice. But Jake could hear his father's fury.

 "I don't need to change a damn thing. Now go to bed, boy." 

Jake woke before dawn and began grinding coffee beans. When he watched Rob roll out of his blanketed cocoon, he pulled his thumb off the noisy machine.

Rob straightened from the sofa, rubbing his eyes. "Really? This early?"

Jake pushed out his chest and walked into the living room. He stopped before the study entrance, peered in, then resumed his path towards Rob. "Dad, I want you to come and see Uncle Tom. Please.”

Rob's finger shook back and forth, and his eyes made a V shape. "What did I tell you? I'm not walking into that shop and looking into a God damned mirror." 

When Jake left for school, he noticed Jean's folder on the entrance table. There was a sticky note on it that read, Rob. You have until the end of the week to sign. Don't let this get ugly.

After school, Jake walked through Tom's tinted doors with a sluggish stride, back-pack dangling on his elbow. 

"Bad day with the books?" Tom looked up from a pile of papers and showed Jake an awkward smile. "I got to run a few errands. Look after the shop for thirty minutes. Then when I get back, you can get started on those windows again." 

Jake nodded.

The shop's front door hadn't closed when the idea came to Jake to inspect the back room. Jake pressed his face against the tinted glass, peering past his reflection until he could make out Tom getting into his green Chevy.

Jake entered the mirror room through a purple door. Black acoustic foam panels covered the walls and roof. The floor was also black, a kind of linoleum tile. The corridor light slipping through gave just enough visibility for Jake to inspect the room. He saw a red velvet chair and a standing mirror in the corner. The same kind of mirror Rudy had purchased. Nervous to look into the mirror, Jake moved quickly behind it as he noticed a few of the acoustic panels had begun to lift off the wall. But as he moved closer, he observed that the panels had been glued to a black door. Sweaty palmed, Jake pushed down on the door handle and entered a space half the size of the mirror-room. Jake pulled out his phone and pressed his flashlight button. Above him, he could see that the adjacent rooms shared the same roof. There was a gap above the acoustic paneled walls of the mirror-room and the ceiling. Big spotlights were attached above the barrier, pointing into the mirror-room.

A pile of mirrors stacked side by side like dominoes waiting to fall stood in the corner of the backroom. Wires crisscrossed at Jake's feet, leaving little space for walking. He felt an anxiousness begin to rise from his stomach and then settle in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow. As soon as he did, the lights above his head burst into a beautiful red, blue, yellow, orange, and green display. White fisted, Jake tiptoed back to where he'd entered, towards the mirror-room. When he peered around the edge of the black door, the spotlights above struck the mirror. The lights reflected into the mirror-room a lovely magic-like kaleidoscope of colors. A sound like a howling wind came next. Jake followed the sound to the set of speakers hidden by the acoustic paneling. One ear leaning into the mirror-room, the wind noise came from every direction.

 

"Testing. Testing. One, two, three." The wind sound stopped. Jake recognized Tom's voice. "Testing. One, two, three." Tom's voice was different a second time, boomier, like thunder. Some kind of filter, Jake thought.

"Look into the mirror and see." Tom continued. "Testing. Testing. Look into the mirror and see. And find. Yes. Find. Find for yourself that you have been searching in vain for something already within you." 

Lights changing colors and shapes, Jake watched the mirror turn into what looked like a river rushing from it, then a bright burning sun that hurt his eyes, forcing him to look away. 

"Do you see it?" The voice continued. Do you see all that is within you?"

Jake felt a strange pull towards the mirror. He ambled forward. Then he quickly backpedaled into hiding. Tom walked into the mirror-room. Jake watched with steady eyes. Tom adjusted the angle of the mirror, then smiled and smacked his hands together. "All set for another fool." 

The chimes crashed against the tinted shop window. "Be right there!" Tom hurried out. Jake followed with quiet steps. 

"My son told me to come here. Said you have some kind of mirror that could give me some help. The name's Rob Snow." Rob's words struggled from his mouth. His torso swayed above his planted feet.

"Dad." Jake pushed in front of Tom. Rob pulled Jake into his sweaty chest. The tinted windows mirrored Jake's face. He could see Tom grinning behind him.

"Let's get out of here, Dad," Jake whispered.

Rob grabbed Jake's cheeks, squaring face to face with his son. "She's going to leave me."

Gripping Rob's hands, Jake squeezed until he could feel his father's tiny bones. "She hasn't left you yet." 

Jake slid his shop key on the counter. Then he looked at Tom dead in the eyes until the old man looked away. "Find some other fool to clean your windows," And then the chimes banged against the tinted glass. 

South African born, Luke Beling, left home at 19. In 2007, he graduated from Campbellsville University with a BA in English. 

Luke has had several short stories published in journals and magazines, including: Quiet Shorts (2012), Eyelands Flash Fiction (2019), Academy of the Heart and Mind (2021), New Reader Magazine (2021), The Salt Weekly Magazine (2022), and Impspired Magazine (2022). 

Luke is the director of tennis for a private club on the Big Island of Hawaii and an indie-folk singer-songwriter.

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