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I've been going to flea markets
ever since I was a little girl and my grandma started taking me.
Grandma taught me everything about bargain hunting. Things like get
there early. All the good stuff is gone before ten in the morning. The
interesting stuff is in boxes of junk that no one wants to look
through. All prices are negotiable. Never eat the nachos from the
concession stand. I'm almost forty now, but I still feel like a girl at
grandma's side when I'm in here.
I was examining a porcelain tea set when I felt his eyes on me again. "Looking for a gift or somethin' for you?" "Me," I replied. "I always like to look. I guess I never know when something really unique is going to jump out at me." "I know what you need. Hold out your hands." I'm not sure why I did. I guess he just seemed like a harmless old man. I hitched my purse onto my shoulder and cupped my hands together. For some reason, I was expecting something alive, like a kitten. Instead, he picked up three smooth stones and held them over my hands. "I think you'll like this. You look like you've got an imagination." I was about to ask him what that meant when he slid the stones into my hands. They were warm and smooth and very pretty, but they were just river rocks. I stared at them for a moment, feeling a bit silly as I did, and then I noticed the glow. A faint light seemed to come from deep within the rocks. I looked up to ask what was going on, but the old man was gone. So was the flea market. Something else... |