My Friend
Saraj
He left the U.S. years ago. Five? Ten? I’m not sure. I think about when he decided to close his second-hand store because of a drastic rent increase. He had the shop for fifteen years
He started to separate silver items. Then books. My heart was broken in reflection of his broken heart. He was gathering things to donate to other thrift shops; but knew it wouldn’t amount to much. He made calls, but many turned him down. He rented a dumpster. It was a shame because people could use the items but making the connection, moving and timing worked against him.
Thinking I could help I offered to work in the store for the last few days. I spent my time poking through boxes, setting things aside to buy. I set aside books and things made of silver. There wasn’t an office or coatroom and I hung my coat on the wall. There were five people a day who wanted to buy it.
When I came home at night my coat and all of my treasurers reeked of incense. I never noticed it in the store.
He started to throw things away. A woman came in asking about a punch bowl. I asked her to come back in an hour. Saraj retrieved it from the dumpster with ten of the twelve cups. Twenty-five dollars.
He planned to break up a perfectly good dining room table. A shopper asked the price. I said twenty-five dollars. She called home for help moving the table. Twenty-five dollars. I threw in a deflated football.
One day he returned from a delivery and I handed over a wad of cash. I sold a lot of things for five dollars and six dollars. When he was in the store he sold little. Maybe it was his desperation. Maybe he wanted the sales too much. Maybe he wanted not to waste usable items.
I put a box of things in front in a box marked free with any purchase. When shoppers came inside, I encouraged them to make offers. I put up a sign that he would later remove. It said "Make me an Offer.'
Wouldn’t it be better to sell at a low price than to put it in the dumpster? I was alone in this opinion.
I encouraged shoppers to make an offer before ‘he� returned. With the huge STORE CLOSING sign, it was a redundancy.
After a long day, he offered to buy me a sandwich for dinner. Before he went to buy it, he cleared a table and chair for me. Just for me. In his country, the women and men did not eat together. He sat a few feet away and we were able to chat uncomfortably for me, but normal for him.
I remember some of the things I bought over the years. He had a three-foot wooden laughing Buddha, painted gold of course. It was so large; that I had to drive the whole two blocks to pick it up. He carried it out to the car and put it in the passenger seat with the seatbelt. I put it in my office later but the reaction from clients bordered on prejudice so I took it home where it fit right in.
I bought a two-dollar Buddha. I put it on my desk at work. The next client admired it so I gave it to her. On the way home, I bought another one. The second one went to another client.
I returned to his store and asked if he could give me a better price if I bought the rest of them, about six or seven. I was asking for a discount. He complained about the loss until I held up a twenty-dollar bill. Quickly he scooped them up and started to put them into my coat pocket, while we laughed.
One Christmas I bought a doll and a wooden soldier for a pair of seniors. Great gifts. Big smiles. What sixty-five-year-old woman appreciates a doll?
The doll had a paper towel roll under her skirt. When you turned her upside down and removed the roll, there was a different doll. The skirt had different fabrics.
When a person went into the store, there was almost too much to look at. China cabinets, books, toys, dust collectors. Stereo systems. A couple of small refrigerators. Dining room chairs. Many of the aisles were so crowded you couldn’t help but knock things down when you tried to squeeze through. I vowed to lose weight there a few times. Many people asked about something in the window.
There weren’t people in the store most of the time. One summer day I found him sitting outside, under a tree reading a book that was not in English. He invited me to join him and set out a chair. He had a thermos of tea and a box of cookies common to his homeland. We sat together enjoying the summer breeze and the looks of people walking by. He read I think in the Persian language to me. His voice was soft and kind. I have no idea what it was about. It didn’t matter.
He attracted many people as friends, mostly men. Most of them were from another country, not necessarily the one he came from. They all had a shy side. I stood out as a woman they didn’t know. An American.
He had a particularly ratty lounge chair that he put out on the street often. One day he talked me into sitting in it. The chair was comfortable but the feature of people watching was amazing. Since it was between six and seven in the evening, I was certain they were returning home from work.
I knew when a commuter train pulled in because the people trickled past me in droves. Those on the same side of the street mostly looked at me oddly. They couldn’t understand how nice a time I was having.
I live four blocks from Lake Michigan. I know there are a lot of homes, mostly multiunit, but I had never watched them return from work.
For some reason, I think many of them worked in offices. They were nicely dressed and most carried a briefcase. All of them were anxious to get home. I wondered if they were rushing to meet a child, spouse, or cat. I wondered if they prepared their dinner or if someone made it for them.
In the store, Saraj had a little center of paperwork cave. It had a padded chair, television, and microwave. On Sunday evenings I used to make experimental vegan dishes and take him a sample. First, he would jolt it in the microwave.
He ate with a plastic spoon, eating so fast that I encouraged him to slow down. After he proceeded to analyze the ingredients. I used to cook with different lentils and always added real garlic. He never complained about the amount I used.
I don’t know how many years it has been since he closed the store. There is a nail salon there now. It couldn’t be cleaner. His store was dimly lit and a little dusty.
I saw him a few times after the store closed. Then his phone was disconnected, but I still kept the card he wrote his home number. People I asked said he went back to the old country to work as a translator. I am not sure if his brother still lived in Michigan. I don’t see the men who used to stop and talk with him.
I still live in the same place and can be found on the internet if he is looking for me. Sometimes I see a tall dark man who fits his silhouette. But when we meet eyes, it is not my friend.
© 2023 Una Tiers
He left the U.S. years ago. Five? Ten? I’m not sure. I think about when he decided to close his second-hand store because of a drastic rent increase. He had the shop for fifteen years
He started to separate silver items. Then books. My heart was broken in reflection of his broken heart. He was gathering things to donate to other thrift shops; but knew it wouldn’t amount to much. He made calls, but many turned him down. He rented a dumpster. It was a shame because people could use the items but making the connection, moving and timing worked against him.
Thinking I could help I offered to work in the store for the last few days. I spent my time poking through boxes, setting things aside to buy. I set aside books and things made of silver. There wasn’t an office or coatroom and I hung my coat on the wall. There were five people a day who wanted to buy it.
When I came home at night my coat and all of my treasurers reeked of incense. I never noticed it in the store.
He started to throw things away. A woman came in asking about a punch bowl. I asked her to come back in an hour. Saraj retrieved it from the dumpster with ten of the twelve cups. Twenty-five dollars.
He planned to break up a perfectly good dining room table. A shopper asked the price. I said twenty-five dollars. She called home for help moving the table. Twenty-five dollars. I threw in a deflated football.
One day he returned from a delivery and I handed over a wad of cash. I sold a lot of things for five dollars and six dollars. When he was in the store he sold little. Maybe it was his desperation. Maybe he wanted the sales too much. Maybe he wanted not to waste usable items.
I put a box of things in front in a box marked free with any purchase. When shoppers came inside, I encouraged them to make offers. I put up a sign that he would later remove. It said "Make me an Offer.'
Wouldn’t it be better to sell at a low price than to put it in the dumpster? I was alone in this opinion.
I encouraged shoppers to make an offer before ‘he� returned. With the huge STORE CLOSING sign, it was a redundancy.
After a long day, he offered to buy me a sandwich for dinner. Before he went to buy it, he cleared a table and chair for me. Just for me. In his country, the women and men did not eat together. He sat a few feet away and we were able to chat uncomfortably for me, but normal for him.
I remember some of the things I bought over the years. He had a three-foot wooden laughing Buddha, painted gold of course. It was so large; that I had to drive the whole two blocks to pick it up. He carried it out to the car and put it in the passenger seat with the seatbelt. I put it in my office later but the reaction from clients bordered on prejudice so I took it home where it fit right in.
I bought a two-dollar Buddha. I put it on my desk at work. The next client admired it so I gave it to her. On the way home, I bought another one. The second one went to another client.
I returned to his store and asked if he could give me a better price if I bought the rest of them, about six or seven. I was asking for a discount. He complained about the loss until I held up a twenty-dollar bill. Quickly he scooped them up and started to put them into my coat pocket, while we laughed.
One Christmas I bought a doll and a wooden soldier for a pair of seniors. Great gifts. Big smiles. What sixty-five-year-old woman appreciates a doll?
The doll had a paper towel roll under her skirt. When you turned her upside down and removed the roll, there was a different doll. The skirt had different fabrics.
When a person went into the store, there was almost too much to look at. China cabinets, books, toys, dust collectors. Stereo systems. A couple of small refrigerators. Dining room chairs. Many of the aisles were so crowded you couldn’t help but knock things down when you tried to squeeze through. I vowed to lose weight there a few times. Many people asked about something in the window.
There weren’t people in the store most of the time. One summer day I found him sitting outside, under a tree reading a book that was not in English. He invited me to join him and set out a chair. He had a thermos of tea and a box of cookies common to his homeland. We sat together enjoying the summer breeze and the looks of people walking by. He read I think in the Persian language to me. His voice was soft and kind. I have no idea what it was about. It didn’t matter.
He attracted many people as friends, mostly men. Most of them were from another country, not necessarily the one he came from. They all had a shy side. I stood out as a woman they didn’t know. An American.
He had a particularly ratty lounge chair that he put out on the street often. One day he talked me into sitting in it. The chair was comfortable but the feature of people watching was amazing. Since it was between six and seven in the evening, I was certain they were returning home from work.
I knew when a commuter train pulled in because the people trickled past me in droves. Those on the same side of the street mostly looked at me oddly. They couldn’t understand how nice a time I was having.
I live four blocks from Lake Michigan. I know there are a lot of homes, mostly multiunit, but I had never watched them return from work.
For some reason, I think many of them worked in offices. They were nicely dressed and most carried a briefcase. All of them were anxious to get home. I wondered if they were rushing to meet a child, spouse, or cat. I wondered if they prepared their dinner or if someone made it for them.
In the store, Saraj had a little center of paperwork cave. It had a padded chair, television, and microwave. On Sunday evenings I used to make experimental vegan dishes and take him a sample. First, he would jolt it in the microwave.
He ate with a plastic spoon, eating so fast that I encouraged him to slow down. After he proceeded to analyze the ingredients. I used to cook with different lentils and always added real garlic. He never complained about the amount I used.
I don’t know how many years it has been since he closed the store. There is a nail salon there now. It couldn’t be cleaner. His store was dimly lit and a little dusty.
I saw him a few times after the store closed. Then his phone was disconnected, but I still kept the card he wrote his home number. People I asked said he went back to the old country to work as a translator. I am not sure if his brother still lived in Michigan. I don’t see the men who used to stop and talk with him.
I still live in the same place and can be found on the internet if he is looking for me. Sometimes I see a tall dark man who fits his silhouette. But when we meet eyes, it is not my friend.
© 2023 Una Tiers
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