Baskets and Beach Toys

“How can I help you today?”

A lady that would have been a 100 year old leathery turtle if not for her abnormally large grin greeted us as we cautiously strolled into the store. I say store, I mean scorching hot tea kettle. Lots of stores in Florida are air conditioned, but this one was sweltering. It was probably fine for people (and maybe turtles) native to the area, but Finn and I crumbled under the weight of the humidity like stomped on flowers.

“We’re just looking around, thank you very much.”

My grandmother had been “just looking around” in dozens of stores all morning, if you call “just looking around” only buying raisins in bulk and Christmas tree ornaments and grimey sweatshirts from the nineties at each store. She had dragged my brother and me around to each store, showing no need for food, water, or rest in the 90 degree heat.

This store was the worst one we’d seen yet: it was packed to the brim with stuff, disintegrating lamps, strange books, pinwheels and whirligigs, filling the shelves like the store was about to collapse. The turtle lady wasn’t the only sea animal in the store, there were ceramic turtles and dolphins and inflatable sea horses scattered about everywhere, a desperate attempt at souvenirs. This store had mastered the difficult balance between claustrophobia and chaos, and it was uncomfortably palpable.

My grandmother began to stroll down an aisle of beach toys, even though all of her grandchildren are in their teens and early twenties, and that was our cue to venture into the wreckage behind her.

I stared at my brother. His hair was still smooth in the humidity, while mine was a big frizzy shrub attached to my head. He bit his lip. Finn didn’t want to be here. He hated the heat, he hated our grandmother, and he hated the South. God, I wished I was more like him. Unlike me, Finn was decisive about things.

“Look at that, two for four dollars. Isn’t it a bargain?”

Finn rolled his eyes like the seventeenth eye roll took significantly more effort than the first one had.“Grandma, we don’t need any beach toys, we’re all grown up now.”

“Not for you, for Finn and Nora.”

“We’re Finn and Nora!”

“Right, wow, you really are grown up.”

Grandma kept looking at the beach toys anyway. Finn paced, like it would make her move faster too.

“You two go find me some good bargains on books,” Grandma said, more of a command than a suggestion. “Then we’ll go to the thrift store on East Street.”

Finn disagreed “I don’t think we will.” I stared at Finn, and then burst out laughing

“What did you say to me?”

I stopped laughing. The room suddenly seemed air conditioned, but it was just the cold look Grandma gave Finn. Finn held his ground against her glare.

“Why do you buy so many things that you don’t need?” Finn smirked

“And who are you to tell me what I want to do? You show some respect now, you hear me? You don’t talk to your grandmother that way!” Her mouth stretched back and forth like a rubber band that was about to snap. Sweat finally started to show on her brow.

Both Finn and I were laughing now.

“You’re a hoarder, Grandma,” said Finn. And when you buy junk from these shady-ass shops it doesn’t help your case.”

Then the most hilarious thing happened. Grandma whipped out the little beach shovel she was looking at, ready to flog us. She shot her eyes right into Finn’s soul. I was almost crying from laughter, even though I knew I was next.

“You… You little…” spit Grandma.

“Run!” I whispered to Finn between muffled laughs.

We took off, still giggling, like hyenas after a kill. We zig zagged down through towers of china and clothing, until we were far away from Grandma and the gruesome beach shovel, only stopping after a box of ancient cassette tapes fell on Finn’s head. There were splinters of wood all over the floor, but we were tired, more from laughing than running, so we sat down.

We hadn’t been sitting there long before Grandma found us again. Finn started to curse but it came out as a cough.

“I’m going to go to the thrift shop next door, and you will stay here and help Mrs. Jacobson clean up the store. You disrespect her and you will regret it.” She pointed the shovel at us threateningly before walking away.

Then Turtle Lady, or rather Mrs. Jacobson, came round and pointed at us too.

"There you are!" She had too much energy, This was going to be a long, hot while.

“Thank you so much for your help, kiddos!” Mrs. Jacobson looked at us like she had other people to talk to once a year.

“Wow, you’re a big strong boy,” she said looking at Finn. “Go down to the back of the store, and you’ll see a big pile of rubbish. I want all that in the dumpster.” Finn probably didn’t know how he was going to differentiate what was product and what was trash, but he started down to the back of the store, determined to rid the store of anything he deemed worthless.

“And you and I can go through these, hon.”

Mrs. Jacobson lead me to a pile of baskets that had unwoven themselves through the years.

“Now, these are not just any ordinary baskets, dear. I had a basket when I was a girl, I used to collect sea shells on the beach. It was… this basket, no, I...” Mrs. Jacobson looked sorrowful, like the happiness was being drained out of her.

“I can’t remember which one it was. I was going to keep that one.” She sniffed, and then brightened, quickly recovering from her brief stint of sadness. “Oh, well. I’ll just keep all of them, I suppose. All this stuff has memories in it, even the forgotten stuff. Go help your brother, honey. Thanks for your help.” She gaped at all the baskets, thinking about sea shells, no doubt.

Even the forgotten stuff.