Last Day at Work

Kalanie Saldajeno

HELP WANTED, PART TIME/FULLTIME "Lost something?" A female voice said, waking up from my trance. I turned around and saw a beautiful woman with waist-length black hair. She had a sculpted figure, which was twine-thin. Her waist was tapered, and she had a pale complexion. A pair of arched eyebrows looked down on sweeping eyelashes emphasized her kind brown eyes. Her delicate ears framed a dainty nose. She looked younger than me, but a voice at the back of my head seems to say that she was much older than she looks, and yet there was something warm about her presence.

I found myself saying, "I lost a handkerchief." "Ah," the woman replied. She was in the process of moving a flower pot containing the largest sunflowers I have ever seen, the plant itself towered over my five-foot frame, and the flowers were bigger than my head. She invited me inside the shop; the inside was cluttered but still managed to look warm and homey, with its wooden floors and certain sweet smell in the air. She told me to sit on one of the couches and went behind the counter. The shop was filled with different things from ordinary things such as jewelry, ornaments up to the strangest things a bottle filled with an unfamiliar substance that sparkle and twinkle like the night sky, a mask decorated with a wide variety of feathers that would surely make the adarna bird jealous, a necklace that has a pair of iridescent wings as a pendant and many more. "Is this what you're looking for?" In her hand was my handkerchief that I lost a couple of days ago. "Yes," I responded with astonishment lacing my voice. "How did it get here?" "Lost things arrive here to be found," she said. "Oh, do I have to pay for this?" She laughed gracefully and said, "No, I only sell unclaimed items."

I looked at the shelves. "That's a lot of unclaimed items." The beautiful woman looked wistful. "Humans are fickle creatures; they lose things every day. Most just give up looking and forget." "Humans," that's what she said, not "we" or "us" what a weird thing to say. I was curious about the shop and the sudden sadness that seemed to envelop its keeper's voice, but I was pressed for time and had to say goodbye. "Thank you so much for your help Miss….," I say gratefully, assuming that was her name.

Once again, she laughed and replied, "My name is Dian. Call me that way."

The next day, I visited, staying for at least an hour having tea and eating her delicious pastries. I don't usually drink tea because of its grassy aftertaste, but Dian's tea was tinted pink and had a flowery hint to it. She said that the tea was made from boiling Sampaguita, roses, and gumamela, a recipe she inherited from her mom. This shop is strange; objects appear in the storeroom and remain there until claimed. If the items remained unclaimed for 30 days, they would be transferred to the shop to be appraised or be sold.

The shop contains a myriad of things. Furniture, clocks, hats, and headdresses from various eras, curtains and clothes and various purses, cameras, typewriters, assorted shoes, chests of jewelry, and books. She said that only a few "humans" with the "sight" could find her shop, and when

they do, they usually look for items that they can use for décor. They pay her with human currency, and that's what she uses to pay the humans who pawn their objects. On the other hand, her "non-human" clientele usually end up bartering each other's items. They have no interest in human objects or money, and humans typically refuse to pay the price in exchange for magical items.

A few visits later, I found myself working for Dian as a part-timer adding it to my boring routine. I didn't really need the job, but working for Dian was a pleasure. The shop didn't need a helper, clients didn't come in hordes but I think that what Dian needs is the company. She was always alone with only her romance pocketbooks—she needed a companion.

Dian always opened the shop late because that's when clients usually came in. There was still the usual pawnshop business of this-rings-for-cash, but I have also seen a fair share of interesting trades. A gymnast is trading a week's worth of laughter for the quick healing of a

broken bone; a merman is exchanging his scales for a potion that will permanently turn him into a human; a fairy trading pixie dust for a bottle of glamour that will conceal her wings so that she can continue being an actress. Although rare, humans also come in for magical trades. A blind little girl once traded her singing voice for sight (Dian stored her voice in a bottle and put it on the topmost shelf).

Dian saw me eyeing the bottle and jokingly said she would give the bottle in exchange for my face. I panicked a little, and Dian to burst into laughter. For some strange reason, Dian took a liking to my face. One night, a drunk woman came in and brought a bottle of storm clouds. She said that she was a writer who needed the rain to bring out her creative juices. "What did she pay for that?" I asked once the woman had left. "That's just a week's supply of storm clouds," Dian said, "so I only asked for seven months of her life. I'm going to use that for my sunflowers. That way, they wouldn't wilt for a long time— isn't that fantastic? The sunflower was from my beloved brother Apolaki."

I nodded my head, unsure of what to say. I hope the lady was able to make a good book.

One afternoon when I went to the shop to start work, I noticed a gold envelope with intricate floral patterns at the pawn shop's doorstep. I grabbed the letter and gave it to Dian, who was sitting behind the counter. Upon seeing the letter's contents, a sad look appeared on her pretty face. "Dian, what's wrong?" I asked her worriedly.

As if on cue, she burst into tears. I was so worried that I didn't even get to ask why her tears turned into pearls. I reached out to her and rubbed circles on her back, hoping that some way it would bring her comfort. "They're going to close the shop. Maria Makiling won't let me keep it. She owns the land around here."

I found myself unable to say anything. Dian refused to open up a shop that day; instead, she tried to cheer herself up by talking to me and listening to music on her phonograph. I was about to leave when Dian tapped my shoulder; she had a flowerpot with a sunflower on hand; she even tied a red ribbon around it. "It's a gift. I hope you take care of it. The flower will live a long life because of my special fertilizer," she said with a smile.

I smiled back and said thank you to her, and made my way to my bicycle parked across the street. I was in the middle of the road when I stopped walking; something made me stop and looked back at the shop. I want to memorize every detail about it, the dainty lettering on the sign, the antique-looking lamp post beside it, the strange but whimsical architecture of the shop, and finally the glass windows illuminated by the yellow light. I spotted Dian behind the window, and she was looking smiling. She waved her elegant hands at me and mouthed, "It's past your curfew." grinning afterward. I stared at her once more in hopes of memorizing her features.

Tears started falling to my cheeks. For some strange reason, I know that today was my last day at work.