Chapter Text
A few times a year, 5 pm usually still has the sun on the horizon. Civilians, like you, clock out from their job or school and head directly home. You’d usually share this sentiment, careful not to be caught without sunlight in the sky, but today was a special day.
After months of saving some pocket change, you can finally have the indigo cassette player in the pawnshop.
For most, it wasn’t the best option since the rise of iPods started a new medium for music in 2003, but you preferred the classics. And a way to break into the radio for news since you didn’t have a television in your apartment.
You arrived on time at the store but your prized item wasn’t on display. And on cue, a kid walked away with the player in their hands. His back was turned away from you, but you had a feeling the item he has was the tape player you wanted. And labored for, you add. Your smile drops.
The pawnshop door opens and the chimes sway as it swings. There on the entrance was Mr. Fitter, the store owner, and a kind man who treated you like his own kid. “Hello there, (y/n) hard to believe you’re still out,” he greets. He knows your picky habit of time-built constraints at five. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Just soaking in some last minutes of vitamin D,” you jest. “I have a question, sir. Did anyone come here today and buy the tape recorder on display, perhaps?”
“Oh yes, just recently. You wanted to buy it didn’t you?”
“I uh… I did actually,” you averted your eyes, quite bashful but open to share your loss.
You know he was kind, and if you simply asked he would give it to you as a gift. But he runs a business and you know better than to take advantage of kindness. “But It’s fine. I could buy when you have another player available.”
“Nonsense. Come inside and have some tea. My daughter came home and brought cookies.” He held the door out for you.
“Alright sir,” you followed him inside the shop. You might as well use the time to have a chat with a good acquaintance.
It smells like a mix of rust and WD40 inside from the pawnshop. Mr. Fitter was also a mechanic who tinkered will various Items from repair. You learned a lot from him as an engineering undergrad.
‘if it moves when it shouldn’t, use duct tape or industrial glue. If it doesn’t move when it should, use WD40.” You kept it to heart. It was the most practical advice and it can be applied almost anywhere.
You take a seat by the counter while he enters one of backdoor. One leads to his home upstairs since his shop shares a single building, while the other door leads to the back garage. It’s where they keep the other items for sale. He entered the later, and you wonder what cookies could come from such a hidden place. Maybe it’s foreign.
You take your time to look around from your place. You noticed some things were new on display, while others were either moved from their place or remained in their previous location. Most of the items he has were mechanical— clocks mostly or bikes. And some were electrically driven like a blender or washing machine. Anything that he can fix, he can sell.
His talent for fixing makes everything good as new. So people who were on a budget, like you, would buy the overhauled second-hand item over something new.
“Aha! Here it is.” In comes Mr. Fitter with a familiar-looking device in his hands. “I think you had a fixation on things that are indigo, so I think you would like this one.”
On the countertop, he placed was a tape player; An item you longed for.
“Oh, my, sir” You grab the device and inspected the beautiful item. It had a logo from a brand you don’t recognize. It was light, it was indigo, and it was a cassette tape player capable of tuning into FM and AM radio stations. It was basically what you wanted to save up for.
“How much is it?” You didn’t hide the excitement in your tone. Your fingers skimmed against the corners. It felt smooth while the buttons seem to press without a problem. There weren’t any scratches on the surface. You raise the device to your ears, shaking it a bit, pleased to not hear any jingle— it was a sign that all things are intact.
Mr. Fitter waited for you to finish your twiddling, then said, “For you? It’s free.”
You stopped as you placed the device down as gently as you could since it seemed so special. “I couldn’t take it as free. You run a business.” You pulled out your wallet. “I can pay for it, sir. Honestly, I’ve been saving some for this occasion.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, “It’s alright. I know you’re on a tight budget.”
“Even still, I couldn’t. take something as special as this.”
“Don’t be absurd,” he smiles. “You could because it’s junk.”
Your brows furrowed, “It can’t be. It feels so new.”
“It is. I am giving this out for free because I couldn’t fix it.” he declared, a voice in a hush whisper like it was a curse. Maybe for tinkers like him, it was the closest he has to a curse.
Something Mr. Fitter couldn’t fix? Could such a thing exist? Just the other day he repaired his neighbor's car after a day spent reading the manual. His neighbor was told that the car was set for scrap, but when Mr. Fitter came to have a look at it, a few days later it was running down the street without a problem.
“If you don’t believe me you can try to have it play.”
“I believe you. I think it’s disrespectful to try, honestly.”
“Then it’s junk.”
“But if you couldn’t fix it,” the words that left your mouth feel like you’re cursing him yourself, “then it’s kaput,”
“Surely there’s another engineer who could tinker it to use,” he replied, gently pushing the tape player to you. “I want you to take this as a test of sorts. If you could fix it, then it’s an achievement, the first fix from the myriads you can repair. If you can’t, then it’s experience. Experience is the best teacher, no?”
“No. I mean— I meant, yes. Experience is the greatest teacher,” you answered, finally, you take the device in your hands, a giddy excitement and anxiety mixing in your chest. “I accept the challenge. I’ll try my hardest, sir. You can count on it.”
“I already have faith in you,” he smiled, eyes crinkled and his mouth pulled back in a large grin. It was the brightest you’ve ever seen from him. It makes you proud of yourself to have someone trust you in the way he does.
Mr. Fitter looked at you with fondness. You share the same kind of genuine interest as he did when he first started with the hobby. The thrill, the engagement, and the satisfaction after a repair. But surely you will be better than him in due time. Talent is something that you have, instinct is what polishes it.
From under the counter, he pulled a tin container. “Now, it’s getting dark soon, kid. Why don’t you take the cookies home, and rest.”
You didn’t say anything. Your focus was too immersed in the indigo player. You pressed the various buttons, and you opened its tape housing and its battery container, curious to know its problem and possible solution.
He called your attention once more.
Your head turned to him, “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“I said that it’s getting dark soon. Why don’t you head back home and bring the cookies with you.”
“Oh okay, I see,” you reply curtly, attention still preoccupied on the device. “See you, Mister.”
“Take care, (y/n)” he bids farewell. But he was dismayed to see the tin of cookies still in its place. He thought you were linear, but goodness, he didn’t think you could have forgotten the cookies you liked. He had told his daughter to buy some more after she unknowingly finished the entire pack in one sitting last time.
“Oh well. Maybe next time," Mr fitter returns back to his storage closet.