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I heave a sigh and look around at the dead store. Music is playing in the background, soft, so as not to overwhelm my customers.
What customers? I ask myself bitterly. It’s been empty all day.
I reach up and fix the scarf that holds back my dark waves, hoping that my worries aren’t etched on my face. Especially when I actually see someone pause outside the store. I put on a friendly smile and almost try to will them to come inside. After a quick glance in the window, however, they shake their head and walk off. Another sigh escapes me, this time one of defeat.
I settle onto the stool behind the counter, propping my elbows up on the surface and cupping my chin in my hands.
How did things get this bad? I wonder to myself.
I think back over the years of owning this record shop. My brother Florian and I had opened this place together. We bought it together, and it had been our pride and joy. We’d taken this little place and made it shine. But now I’m beginning to wonder if I should still keep trying. I’ve done my best, every single day, to keep this place alive, but no matter what I do, things just get worse and worse.
This whole little strip mall seems to be dying off, and most of the other businesses that used to be here have either shut down or moved away.
No matter what gimmicks I’ve tried to implement, or sales I try to have, I just can't get business anymore. The decline started a year and half ago, right around the time Florian died.
My chest aches and I gaze out the window, remembering what it was like before, when the two of us ran things together. Business was good back then because he left such a vivid impression on people.
No one could draw in the customers like he could. Shoot, the whole strip mall saw a lot more action back then. It's not that we chose a bad location or anything, it's just a sign of the times, I suppose.
I look out all the open expanse of the shop and the grief threatens to swallow me whole. God, I miss him. My brother just had this amazing, magnetic personality. I can almost see him walking around talking and smiling with the customers.
He seemed to draw in people of all ages. He was so patient with the elderly customers, listening with genuine interest to their stories as they browsed the vinyl trying to retain some shred of their rebellious youth. And even the younger crowd, the ones who rolled their eyes at our old-fashioned wares, he roped in.
He could find something for anyone, sometimes just by looking at them. It was his superpower.
Even though we’re in the digital age of everything, under his care, the business seemed to flourish. Maybe it was because we both had such bright personalities and worked well together. We both had this crazy energy and had so much fun together. Running the shop wasn’t work, it was just what we loved.
But Florian was in the wrong place at the wrong time, just one time. And the drunk driver who took his life and turned mine upside down will be getting out of jail in another year or so.
It’s almost like some part of me died with my brother. That bubbly, happy version of me is nowhere to be found, and I feel like that life is draining out of the shop, too.
I still love this record shop because it's a part of us, and I'll fight my hardest to keep it going, but I feel like I can only do so much. I sigh and push myself away from the counter. I need to focus and get through this day so I can get home.
Ugh, home.
Although the thought of relaxing was tempting, I knew that wasn’t exactly what was waiting for me there. Ever since I started having problems with the business, I seemed to be buried under a never ending pile of bills. There just never seemed to be enough money to pay for everything. I had a stack at home that was getting dangerously close to past due.
So I know I won’t be able to relax, I know I'll end up spending my evening trying to figure out how to handle them once again. Not that I really have anything better to do, anyway.
I have no friends. I can’t think of the last time I actually had a date. I have no social life, so the only thing I really can do is go home and worry about the store. The heavy, miserable feelings weigh on my chest, and I wonder how much longer I can hold up to the crushing grief.
Feeling the need for something, anything to alleviate some of the ache, I rise to my feet and walk over to a stack of albums I keep nearby. I play these to entertain customers whenever they show up, or just to break the silence in here. I flip through the stack, searching for one in particular. When I find what I’m looking for, I carefully slide it from the cover and swap it out with the record on the player. I listen to familiar popping sound of the vinyl before the music starts.
