The Record Store

It’s a chilly evening as I walk with you down a busier area than I’m used to. The only warmth accompanying me is your hand in mine. We walk across the street as the cars waiting stare at us with bright eyes. The shop isn’t far from where I parked that white Corolla of mine. The one you worry I might crash in because of how much I speed sometimes. The same one we kiss in almost every day when I have to leave you.

 This shop we’re headed to is one I’ve been to before but only ever with you. I know the layout by now. When you first walk in there’s a rack of CDs, usually on sale for a good price. There are some movies stuck in some boxes facing the wrong way so you can’t read the titles unless you turn your head upside down. If you keep going down the same aisle you find records of disco and rap. On the right wall are records from artists in alphabetical order with letter tags to help you find who you’re looking for. In the middle is a table with records usually for the cheapest prices from musicals or people you’ve never heard of. There’s a downstairs with a bunch of old figurines from what looks like the 2000’s but I could be wrong. You’ve always been better at knowing the dates of things.

 I’ll wander through the rest of the store while you flip through every record and CD. The music playing isn’t memorable but I’ll dance to it anyways. It’s funny how before you I would’ve never known this place even existed. Now I can remember the Beatles bomber jacket hanging by the stairs and know the owner is the one who made all the wood carvings that are around, which if you didn’t know would make little sense to be sold at a record shop. It’s a calm environment. The shops not that big but it’s charming. There’s no distinctive smell aside from old parchment the records have been kept in. 

My favorite time at this store was when there was a band playing. I remember you bopping your head and telling me the singer was actually pretty good and a few minutes later saying he messed up, it made me laugh. You know so much about this stuff. Being here is like visiting a place in your mind. You know the dates of important moments for music and names of more artists than I could name people in general. I remember as that band played you danced with me, swinging back and forth, pulling my hand up so I’d spin underneath. I remember you had actually carried me to the record store that day when I teasingly said you couldn’t even pick me up. For me, that day was truly something else. It was a fantasy, something made up in my head that became reality. With you everything seems a little better and in that store I find myself completely calm and full of infatuation for you. Because this store is you, it’s what you love and what I’m learning to love. With every date we go on and every song you show me I learn more about music and about you. It’s an experience I could never give up.