The Garage Sale!

The Garage Sale!      A Monologue    1748 words

I got up this morning and there was ice on the windows…on the inside!  It is absolutely freezing. I’ve kept my winceyette pyjamas on under my clothes.  I can’t afford to put the heating on…not during the day that would be a luxury too far.  No, I save putting it on till the evening but even then I can’t seem to keep warm.   I usually sit with a blanket round my shoulders and I drink plenty of hot drinks…usually a cup of Oxo or sometimes tea.  I find a hot drink helps.

Although tonight I might just be in need of a tot of whisky from the little bottle I was saving for Christmas. I’ve saved a small box of Thorntons chocolates too.  They’re my Christmas present to myself.    As for the whisky I have a feeling, today, I’m going to need it.  Ooh, my stomach’s doing somersaults already just thinking about it.

In the summer I took some of my stuff in a wheelbarrow to a car boot sale hoping to sell a few bits but I didn’t manage to sell anything.  I hated it.  They were like scavengers picking over my stuff.  Still, needs must but as it’s the middle of winter I didn’t much fancy being out in the open so I decided to have one of these…a garage sale!

It’s today, two o’clock this afternoon, in fact.  Not looking forward to it, not now I know what it’ll be like.  People, scavengers, routing through my things with no thought for what these things mean to me.  Things acquired over a lifetime but do they care?  No, with them, if they pick something up, it’s all about how cheap they can get it for.  All the things I have lovingly looked after all these years.  But I must stand and watch them pour over my stuff holding my precious things up and saying,

‘How much?’

And I will answer and then he or she - they come in both varieties, the scavengers - will say,

‘Too much!  Is that your best price?’

So I answer,

‘How much are you prepared to pay?’

‘Half what you just said.’

Inwardly…I cry.

‘Meet me halfway?’

The scavenger shakes his, her, head…they should have two heads…these monsters.

I resign myself,

‘All right.’  

But then they put it down and look at something else.  So this feigned interest was just an exercise in humiliation.

My stomach gripes.

Why am I putting myself through this?  Why, because it’s being forced on me.  I have two sons.  One who lives abroad and he writes but can’t visit.  The other one can visit but doesn’t.  His wife, Deidre, doesn’t like him spending any time with me.  So it’s been decided I must go in a home. 

Why again, because I once left the gas on without lighting it.  So that is their excuse…my son and Dreary Drawers.  That one little incident was enough for them to convict and sentence me.

Two o’clock comes and it is just as I thought it would be.   They drift in one at a time…the scavengers!  First they pick up one thing then another but each time they do they look at it as if it is a load of tat.  Then if they want it they start haggling until I finally agree a price with them.  Next thing, they put it back down and move on to something else. I hate them.  No, I don’t hate them.  I might despise them.  No, not even that.  I just don’t like them picking over my stuff.  Don’t they realize, my life is laid out on this garage floor?

I’ve still got all the stuff from when Martha was alive.  I miss her.  She wouldn’t have let this happen.  She would have put up a fight but I’m an old man and what fight I had went with her.  Since then, I’ve been pushed from lamp to post by my son and his wife…more by his wife really.

My son has often said he would like things to be different between us but his hands are tied.  He’s always been a bit on the weak side.  I can see it’s difficult for him but still I wish he’d grow some balls and tell that wife of his…but he won’t.  No, she’s got him just where she wants him and when I’m in a home she’ll have me just where she wants me.

His brother, Peter, the one that lives abroad, now he’s a different kind of kettle altogether, he writes and phones regularly but there’s not much he can do from over there now, is there?  He’s the one that sends me a few bob at Christmas to treat myself.  I don’t tell him I use it to pay bills but, if I’m careful, there’s usually enough left for a small bottle of whisky.  The chocolates I manage to get from my pension. 

I don’t know if Rob’s told his brother that he’s putting me in a home because Peter travels around a lot with his job and that’s probably the reason why I haven’t heard from him for a while.  His job, that’s usually it when he doesn’t phone or write but as soon as things get sorted then he’s back on the phone or I get a lovely long letter. Oh and when I say ‘job’ it’s not really his job it’s his business. 

Done well for himself too…  Mind you, he’s had to work hard; nothing’s come easy for him so he deserves all he’s got. I think that gets up her nose too…Dreary Drawers!  Wouldn’t be surprised if she thinks she married the wrong brother.

Where does he live?  New Zealand!  Went there once and Peter and his wife, Melanie, lovely girl, not like Rob’s wife, they took me here there and everywhere.  We had a fine old time.  Now, if he lived over here it would be a different story.  He would never allow this to happen.  Haven’t heard from him for a while though…probably attending to his business. 

Oh, looks like that’s what I should be doing I’ve got another scavenger.  That’s funny; I think she’s been in before. Hey up she’s looking at the chest of drawers from my bedroom, it’s part of a set but I couldn’t bring the wardrobes down, enough of a struggle bringing the chest.

‘How much?’  She says.

‘It’s part of a set,’ I answer.  ‘Do you want the whole suite?’

‘Oh no, just this piece.  How much?’

‘Fifty pounds.’

‘FIFTY POUNDS!  You’ve got to be joking.  Fifty pounds for this?’

‘Well, it’s difficult to put a price on just the one piece because it’s part of a set.’

‘Do you want to sell it or not?’

‘Okay, you tell me what you want to pay.’

‘It’s not worth more than a tenner.’

‘Is that your best offer?’

‘Yes.  Not much call for second hand furniture.  You’re lucky to have me take it off your hands.’

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘it’s a deal.’

‘Well, I can’t do anything till I sort out how I’m going to get it home.’

‘So, will you leave a deposit?’

‘No, it doesn’t work like that.  You’ll have to wait until I get something sorted.’

‘What if someone else wants it?’

‘I don’t think that will happen but if it does just say it’s reserved.’

‘Oh, okay, if that is how it’s done?’

Anyway, she goes and another scavenger comes in.  An old boy this time, he looks all round and then goes back out as if it’s all a load of rubbish.  The gripes are getting stronger. I feel like shouting,

‘Here mate, if you just walk away without looking at my stuff then you are saying my life is worthless!’ 

Oh, hang on, here comes someone else…a middle aged man this time.

‘How much for all the china?’

‘What all of it?’

‘All of it.’

‘The glass as well?’

‘No, just the china.’

‘Oh that’s a bit of a poser.  I never thought about selling it in one whole lot.’

‘Do you want to sell it?’

‘Well…yes…’

‘Then how much?’

Anyway, while I’m talking to china man a very smartly dressed bloke comes in and starts mooching round.  Wonder what he’s looking for, I think to myself.  I strike a deal with the china man and he goes off happy.  So then I turn my attention to the smartly dressed bloke.

‘Anything in particular you’re looking for?’ I say.

The smartly dressed man turns round.  I can hardly believe it.

‘Peter!  Peter, is that really you?’

‘Yes, Dad, it’s me.’

‘What you doing here?  Has Rob written to tell you he’s putting me in a home…says I’m a danger to myself.  Is that why you’re here?’

‘Yes.  Who does he think he is?  No father of mine is being shoved in a home.’

‘It’s not him, son, it’s her.  She hates him spending any time with me.’

‘Well, now he won’t have to because you’re coming to live with us.’

‘Oh, now hang on, Peter, at my age I couldn’t uproot and go and live with you in New Zealand, nice though the idea is but your mother is buried in the churchyard here and I can’t and won’t leave her.’

‘You don’t have to, Dad.  I haven’t been in touch for a while because I’ve re-located the business over here.  Nowadays, with the Internet it can be run from pretty much anywhere in the world.  So, Melanie and I have bought a house not far from here and we’ve had an annexe built especially for you so now you don’t have to sell all your stuff.’

‘Oh, yes I do.  I’m not taking all this old tat with me.  In fact I’ll give it away, everything except the photos of your Mother and all her bits...  I don’t want any of it. It’s time to let go.’  Then Peter gave me the strangest look before saying,

‘I wish I’d known that a couple of hours ago I’ve been stood outside, freezing my nuts off, buying everything back!’

‘Oh, Peter, I’m sorry but I’ve got a little bit tucked away that I kept for emergencies so I can buy all new.  Your mother would understand.  If I’m to have a new home…then I’m ready for a new life!  Son, would you walk up the lane with me to the churchyard…I’d like us both to tell her?’

End