Past Lives of Secondhands | rainni’s
⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ🗝️
Rinni stepped into the vintage store, and the bell above the door burst into a fit of giggles, as if it had just remembered the punchline to a bad joke. She tilted her head up.
"What's so funny, Mr. Bell?" she demanded, hands on her hips like a detective interrogating a mischievous sprite. The bell only swayed back and forth, laughing in that tinkling way that made it sound like it had hiccups.
"Did a breeze tell you a joke?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Or did you see the sun trip over the horizon this morning?"
The bell just kept laughing. Rinni stuck her tongue out at it. "Fine. Be that way. But you're terrible at keeping secrets." She gave it a wink and skipped further into the store, the air humming with old memories and lemon polish.
Dust motes floated lazily in the sunlight streaming through the window, shimmering like tiny fairies caught in a dance. Rinni reached out, fingers grazing the air, and whispered, "Are you having a tea party? Am I invited? I'll bring cookies next time, I promise." The dust motes didn't answer, but they swirled around her fingers playfully, and she took that as a yes.
The clothing racks stood like enchanted trees, their branches weighed down by fabrics in every colour imaginable. Rinni let her fingers trail along the clothes, feeling their textures, their stories. She stopped at a blue velvet dress, its material soft and luxurious under her touch. It gave a dramatic sigh, almost swooning, as she wrapped its sleeve around her fingers.
"Oh, aren't you dramatic?" she said, giving it a little twirl. "You were made for grand entrances, weren't you? Whispering naughty things to chandeliers and making other dresses jealous."
The velvet shimmered, catching the light just so, and Rinni laughed. "I knew it! You're a heartbreaker." She patted the dress's shoulder. "But no crying over spilled champagne, alright?" The dress stayed silent, but it seemed to glimmer in agreement.
Further down the aisle, a flannel shirt hung quietly, its plaid pattern worn soft and gentle. She pressed it to her cheek, and it felt warm, like a hug waiting to happen.
"Were you someone's favorite?" she asked, her voice tender. "Did they wear you on rainy Sundays? Did they wrap you around themselves while sipping tea and humming old love songs?"
The flannel didn't answer, but Rinni could almost hear a faint hum. She gave the shirt a little spin too. "You're a keeper, aren't you?" she whispered. "Someone's safe place." She hugged it once, tightly, before letting it go.
She wandered deeper into the store, where shadows danced along the walls and objects grew stranger, quirkier. A brass candelabra sat on a dusty shelf, its arm bent at an odd angle, looking terribly embarrassed. Rinni poked its crooked limb.
"Good heavens! Did you lose a fight?" she gasped, her eyes wide. "Who was it? A chandelier? A grumpy curtain rod?"
The candelabra wobbled, and she clapped her hands to her mouth. "Oh no! You won, didn't you? You brave little warrior!" She stood it up proudly, giving it a gentle pat. "Chandeliers are all talk anyway." She saluted the candelabra before skipping off.
A wall of mirrors greeted her next, each one reflecting a slightly different version of herself. One was gilded with gold vines curling around the edges, another was chipped and smudged, its glass a little foggy. Rinni leaned in, her nose almost touching the glass.
"Well, well, well," she cooed, "Which one of you is the real me?" She puffed out her cheeks, then crossed her eyes. "Have you seen other dreamers? Did they make faces at you too?"
Her reflection blinked back, curious and mischievous. Rinni tapped the glass. "I bet you know all the secrets. I bet people tell you things they wouldn't even tell the moon." She grinned, pressing her pinky to the glass. "I won't tell. Pinky promise."
In her mind, the mirror's glassy finger wrapped around hers, sealing the secret. She blew her reflection a kiss, then pirouetted away, laughing as her skirt twirled around her like petals caught in the wind.
On a low shelf, shoes sat quietly, their toes pointing in every direction, as if they had just paused mid-conversation. Rinni crouched down, her fingers brushing over scuffed boots, sandals missing a strap, and sneakers with frayed laces. She picked up a pair of old running shoes, their soles paper-thin and their tongues lolling out like tired puppies.
"Oh, you've been everywhere, haven't you?" she cradled them in her hands. "Did you race the wind? Did you splash through puddles and laugh as rainbows chased you?"
The shoes sagged a little, weary but content. She gave them a gentle shake. "Rest up, okay? You've got more adventures waiting for you." She kissed their toes before setting them down.
She picked up a pair of crimson heels next, their paint chipped but still dazzling, like stars refusing to dim. Rinni held them up to her ears, one by one, as if listening to conch shells.
"Oh, you danced, didn't you?" she sighed, eyes sparkling. "Danced all night. You twirled and spun and stole breaths away. Were you kissed while wearing these? Did you make someone's heart skip a beat?"
She spun on her heels, holding the crimson shoes close, and the world twirled with her. Dust motes pirouetted, shadows bowed, and the golden light swirled like laughter.
A woman browsing scarves gave her an odd look, and Rinni waved cheerfully. "Good evening!" she chirped, though it was still morning. The woman blinked, confused, and Rinni giggled as she pranced away.
The store became a maze, a labyrinth of memories and forgotten dreams. She found old postcards with faded ink, tangled jewelry that looked like they had grown together, and books whispering secrets to one another. She touched them all, spoke to them all, her heart filling up with golden warmth.
She came upon a music box hidden in the far corner, its wood chipped and its key missing. She stroked its lid lovingly.
"Did you forget how to sing?" she whispered, her voice so soft it almost floated away. "It's okay. I'll sing for you."
She hummed a melody of her own making, light and airy, and the room seemed to shrink, cozier, like a snow globe she could live inside. When she stopped, she kissed the music box's lid. "There. You're not broken. Just... resting."
She knew she would leave empty-handed. She always did. Rinni wandered back to the front of the store, her heart heavy with a strange, sentimental ache. She turned to face the sea of treasures she had spoken to, danced with, and dreamed about. Her voice softened, as if speaking to children she was about to leave behind.
"Forgive me," she said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, "I can't take any of you home today." She glanced at the velvet dress, the flannel shirt, the tired sneakers, and the brave little candelabra, all watching her with silent, patient eyes.
She took a deep breath, her hands fluttering to her chest. "You see, if I took one of you home, the rest of you would get jealous. And that wouldn't be fair, would it?" She shook her head, "No, no. It would be chaos. You'd all start gossiping. The shoes would grumble. The mirrors would glare. Even Mr. Bell would sulk."
She leaned in closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "You know how dramatic he is." The bell above the door gave a tiny huff, as if caught eavesdropping.
Rinni grinned, "So, you'll have to stay here, just a little longer. But don't worry... I'll come back. I always do."
She blew them a kiss, watching it flutter through the air like a butterfly, landing softly among the dusty shelves. "Take care of each other, okay? And no fighting. Especially you, Mr. Candelabra."
The candelabra stood tall, its bent arm crooked but proud. She saluted it one last time before turning to the door, her heart both heavy and light, full of stories she couldn't carry but would never forget.
With that, she stepped into the sunlight, her laughter lingering behind, dancing among the shadows, keeping them company until she came back to visit again.
She stood just outside the store, the sun warm on her face, the world alive and humming. She glanced down at her own shoes — old, scuffed, tired things, but still hers. They had carried her through so many daydreams, so many adventures. She tilted her head, and wondered who would ask her stories one day. Who would wonder where she had been, what magic she had danced through?
She gave her shoes a fond pat. "Don't worry," she whispered to them, "I'm not done running yet."
And as her laughter danced down the street, the vintage store settled back into its shadows, its treasures sighing contentedly, waiting for the next dreamer to come and listen to their stories.