Spare Parts
“What’s in there?”
“Just spare parts.” I replied.
“Spare parts?”
“Yeah, you know? Just bits and pieces and remnants that people discard as unneeded.”
“Okay, and what do you want with other people’s discarded junk?”
“Oh, you would be amazed at what can be done with spare parts. It really is quite fascinating some of the things one can acquire because someone sees no use for it. They say that one man’s trash is another’s treasure. Those words could not be more true. I can spend hours in that room studying and tinkering with the things I have collected through the years.”
“Well, can I have a look at your ‘treasure room’ then?”
“Sorry, no one goes in there but me. It’s kind of my private little sanctuary.”
“You can be an odd one sometimes! Fine. Have it your way. Are you ready for dinner?”
“Just let me grab my coat.” I said as I headed toward the door.
We sat in the quaint little restaurant down the street and chatted over the hearty meal. He had been depressed for some time now and needed someone to talk to. I listened intently as my friend spoke of all the unrequited dreams and desires of his life. I reached in my pocket and pulled out the small box and set it on the table. He glanced at it for only a second, a fleeting moment of curiosity passing across his face before continuing.
On and on we talked into the evening. He poured his heart and soul out to me through the meal, on through dessert, then coffee and a few drinks after. The tension slowly slipping from his shoulders and lines beginning to smooth across his brow. By the end of the evening, he was smiling gently, his heart feeling eased, as if a weight had been lifted from him.
“Thank you, my friend” he said as we stood at my door. “I can’t tell you what this evening has done for me.”
“My pleasure.” I replied. “It was just as beneficial to me and I thank you.”
He gave me a questioning look and shrugged his shoulders before turning to head to his car. As I walked through the front door, I reached in my pocket and drew out the box, a shimmer of excitement passing through me as I made my way to the door to the room and opened it. Gently, I lifted the lid of the box and the whisps floated out.
I sat in my overstuffed chair and watched as my friend’s lost dreams joined the play with the others. Such joy to watch dreams freed to expand and create and weave themselves into the dreampestry in this room. Yes, this room was mine, private. There was no guilt to feel for what I had made here. I took only what was resented, not wanted. How sad for them, how lucky for me that they felt their dreams were only spare parts.
SephiPiderWitch
copyright 05/27/2011
