The bell on the door chirped as I carefully swung the door open, not wanting to bump the window display next to it. “Hi welcome!” A small voice squeaks from behind the vintage recliner. I glance towards the chair and notice a small boy, maybe 5 or 6, practicing writing the alphabet on a legal pad in the chair.

The smell of decades of shedded skin cells living on forgotten furniture invaded my airways, causing a deep breath to slip out of me as I try to avoid experiencing it again. Maybe just one more sniff, to appease my curiosity.

The wall is lined with leather trunks waiting to be used for storing grandma’s inherited quilts when she inevitably passes. Cracked dried leather hugs the old trunks like it’s hanging for dear life. As I unhinge one of the trunks, leather specs flake off around the trim. Inside it is lined with a floral linen pattern, surprisingly still intact. Not wanting to seem like I’m interested in purchasing, I close the lid and relatch the hinge.

Nearby, hundred year old sewing tables are surviving on their sturdy wooden legs. The iron foot pedals all rusted and stuck in place. I rub my fingers along the wooden grooves, exposed to the grit from years of wear and tear. “Nothing that a little sanding and restraining couldn’t fix”, I think to myself. Again, not wanting to be approached by the owners about purchasing, I seemingly walk away uninterested.

I make my way to the back of the store, where the “not so special” items are hidden from view. Dusty sconces fill a shelf, half without matches. Such is life I suppose. A vintage stained glass lamp is perched on an old writer’s desk, with a piece of paper taped to the shade saying “does not work”. I wonder what the price of it would be if it did work, since it’s still marked as $75. “Must be a collectible” I mumble.

“Can I help you find anything?” A warm smile greets me as I turn my back on the sconce shelf. “No thanks just looking!” I squeal. I half smile and pretend to notice something in the distance. My heart is pounding, another attempt to go unnoticed has failed. Thrifting is active therapy for my anxiety until confrontation occurs. I exit the store, looking back at the vanity by the door that invited me in. See you again soon, antique beauty. Someday you can come home with me.