Chapter One #2
The store lights flickered once before settling. Ellis exhaled, counting breaths until his shoulders dropped back into place. Outside, traffic built. Voices passed. A bus braked too hard. It all made Ellis want to disappear in a way that felt embarrassingly dramatic and painfully real.
He closed his eyes and focused on the store.
Inside, everything stayed where it belonged.
This was where Ellis learned how to survive.
This was where he learned how to be himself.
As long as the record store stood, dust, hum, bell and all, Ellis knew exactly who he was when he walked through its door.
Clyde cleared his throat in the way he always did when he was about to say something he thought Ellis wouldn’t like.
It was subtle, just a soft hrmm but Ellis felt it immediately, like a change in pressure.
He looked up from the stack of used records he was re-sleeving, fingers still pinching the edge of a warped Bowie album.
I really need a haircut, Ellis thought, puffing a curl out of his eyes. I hate cutting my hair.
“You got a minute, kid?” Clyde asked.
Ellis nodded and slid the record back into place, aligning the spine carefully. His hands were already moving slower. That usually happened before he consciously knew he was nervous. He didn’t like getting talked to like this, the moment sprung on him.
Clyde leaned against the counter, arms folded, denim jacket creasing at the elbows. He looked old today.
Older than usual.
His white hair stuck out at odd angles, like it had given up trying to behave.
“There’s been,” he began, then paused. “A fella coming around.”
Ellis waited. He was good at waiting. Silence didn’t scare him the way it scared other people. If anything, it soothed him.
“Snazzy young man,” Clyde continued, squinting like the memory annoyed him. “Too much cologne. Shoes that probably cost more than my first car.”
Ellis's stomach tightened.
“He’s been asking questions,” Clyde said. “About the neighborhood. About foot traffic. About me.”
The hum of the refrigerator grew louder, or maybe Ellis just lost the ability to tune it out.
“About the store?” Ellis asked, shifting his weight. His shoes suddenly felt too tight.
Clyde hesitated just long enough to answer before the question was fully spoken. “About buying it.”
The word landed wrong.
Ellis was going to throw up.
Buying. It echoed, bounced off the walls, rattled the bins. Ellis's chest constricted so fast it felt like being grabbed from the inside. His hands went numb, then hot. Panic bloomed. It was sharp, immediate, uninvited.
“No,” Ellis said, too quickly and far too loudly.
Clyde lifted his palms. “Hey. Hey. Slow down.”
Ellis tried. He focused on the counter edge, the scratch near the register shaped like a lightning bolt. He counted the ceiling tiles. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.
“They can’t,” Ellis said. “You—you wouldn’t. This place isn’t—”
He couldn’t finish. Thoughts collided. Images flashed: empty shelves. New paint. The bell disappeared from the door. The hum was replaced by silence. Or worse. Music piped in wrong. Loud. Inconsistent.
Clyde reached out, then stopped himself, letting his hand fall back to his side. He remembered. He always remembered.
“I’m not selling,” he said firmly. “Not today. Not to him. Not to anyone I don’t trust.”
“But you’re thinking about it,” Ellis said.
Not an accusation. An observation.
Clyde sighed, long and tired, leaning harder against the counter like it was the only thing holding him upright.
“I’m thinking about the future,” he said. “Which is different.”
Ellis's pulse roared in his ears. The future was an abstract concept he’d never liked. Too many variables, too many unknowns.
“You didn’t tell him anything,” Ellis said.
“No,” Clyde said immediately. “Told him this place wasn’t on the market.”
Ellis nodded, but the panic lingered, crouched and watchful. “What if he comes back?”
“He might.”
Ellis's nails pressed crescents into his palms. Pain anchored him.
“Ellis,” Clyde said gently. “Look at me.”
He did. Clyde was old. Really old. His wrinkles were deeper now, his hair bright white, his clothes hanging loose. Ellis didn’t like thinking about age or death.
Clyde sighed, “You’re not losing this place overnight. Nothing’s changing today. Or tomorrow.”
“That’s not a guarantee,” Ellis said quietly.
Clyde smiled sadly. “No. It’s not.”
Ellis looked around the store, the familiar chaos arranged just so.
“If the store goes,” Ellis said, voice shaking, “I don’t know where I’ll go.”
“You come with it,” Clyde said simply.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Ellis wasn’t good with things that didn’t make sense.
“Sure it does,” he replied. “This place isn’t just walls and vinyl. It’s you.”
Ellis's throat tightened. He knew that Clyde didn't have family. For as long as Ellis had known the man, which was over ten years at this point, he had never had a partner, or kids. As far as Ellis knew, he was all Clyde had.
“I didn’t offer you that job all that time ago just because you alphabetized quicker than anyone I’d ever met,” Clyde continued with a dry laugh. “I did it because you belonged here.”
Ellis stared at the floor, blinking too fast.
“I’m not going anywhere yet,” Clyde added. “And when I do? We’ll plan. No surprises.”
Planning. Advance notice. Ellis finally drew a full breath.
“Okay,” he muttered.
Clyde nodded and moved back to the register, ready to let the conversation rest. Ellis turned back to the records, but for the rest of the day, all he could think about was how fragile everything suddenly felt.
He was standing on a terrifying precipice.
His future was doomed. He thought about how he couldn’t stop shaking, needing to get all of the feelings out of his body before he exploded.
And about how deeply, utterly screwed he was.