The Real LJ Idol Week 1 - Winding Up
I WOULDN'T TAKE "NO" FOR AN ANSWER
“Where are you taking me?” giggled My Girl.
“You'll see.” I replied with a good-natured smile.
The two of us were walking hand-in-hand down an avenue in The Big City near the college we both attended. I had talked My Girl into taking an afternoon jaunt into town but refused to say exactly where we were going.
My Girl and I made quite the odd couple. I was a meek and timid techno-geek, with a perpetual slouch that helped mask my six-foot-four frame; she was an aggressive artiste whose diminutive form concealed the heart and temperament of a lioness. I was socially inept and anxious, utterly convinced that I hopeless when it came to wooing the feminine gender; she was an unabashed charmer who had told me in no uncertain terms that she liked me “in that way”. I was still a wide-eyed innocent in many respects, deliberately hiding myself from the less savory aspects of the world; she was wise beyond her years from varied personal experiences... and not entirely by choice.
My Girl and I did share several things in common, most notably unhappy childhoods and dysfunctional families, but we wanted our relationship to be more than just the sum of our pain. From time to time we took these little trips to share pleasant memories. In a previous outing, My Girl showed me one of the pubs in The Big City that had been her refuge in rougher times; a cheerful spot filled with good people in the wee hours who would watch over her when she had no other place to lay her head at night. It was now my turn to share a “happy place” with her. I wanted to surprise My Girl, and refused to give even the slightest hint as to the nature of our destination. She was initially reluctant to go on a “mystery tour” on such short notice... but for once I wouldn't take “No” for an answer.
After getting off the train, My Girl and I walked to a part of The Big City dominated by wholesale outlets; the kind of businesses which only did business with other businesses. This late on a Saturday afternoon, they were all locked and shuttered. A few cars passed by on the street, on their way from here to there, but there was no other movement, no apparent signs of life. We essentially had the sidewalk all to ourselves...
My Girl heard the noise in the distance before she could see anything: a series of sharp, regularly spaced grunting sounds, with an odd grinding hum in the background. As we got closer, the noise became louder and more distinct... and at last we spotted something else moving on the sidewalk. When she got close enough to see clearly, My Girl's face lit up just like a child's on Christmas morning:
Tethered by a 15-foot-long chain, to prevent it from wandering into the street, was a small, pink, mechanical toy pig. Its artificial fur was more than a little weather beaten, indicating that it had been outdoors for quite some time, but it was still fully functional and unspeakably cute. As we watched, it went through its automated routine: It shuffled forward several steps on its stubby legs, stopped and grunted happily four times (wrinkling its snout as it did so), then shuffled forward again to repeat the process.
“It's adorable!” exclaimed My Girl. “But why is it out here?” Wordlessly, I pointed at the sign above the store we were standing in front of... and My Girl guffawed.
The name of the place was THE LAST WOUND-UP.
I had known about the store since I was a young boy; they specialized in clockwork toys and other entertaining automata. Being one of the very few retail outlets on this street, they made a point of having at least one of their wares operating out on the sidewalk when they were open for business, drawing attention and bringing in foot traffic. I had never been able to afford to buy anything from this store when I was a child, but I spent many hours just staring at the devices they had for sale going through their motions. Even now, I took pleasure in visiting the place from time to time; a simple, childlike joy that reminded me of a happier stage of my life. Before now, these visitations of mine had been a solitary pursuit, something that I had not shared with a living soul. In truth, I hadn't told My Girl about this place because I thought that she would laugh at me for still being interested in such silly, childish toys.
I turned and looked back at My Girl, who was once again staring wide-eyed in amazement at the pig going through its routine.
“Do you like it?” I asked her, still feeling anxious and needing reassurance.
My Girl walked over and hugged me. “Silly boy! It's wonderful! I didn't know there were places like this left in this town.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, my anxiety draining away. “Would you like to go in, maybe find something you like?”
My Girl smiled up at me. “I like that pig.”
I nodded. “I'm sure they have plenty in stock.” I turned to open the door.
“I want that pig.”
It was the tone of her voice that stopped me. It wasn't anger, though anger frequently made My Girl use this tone, and for a time I mistook it for anger. But it wasn't anger; it was determination.
My Girl had experienced more than her fair share of hard knocks in life; she had been mentally and emotionally beaten down by people that she had trusted and were supposed to care for her. (Yet another thing we had in common.) She had endured all this hardship through sheer determination. When she made up her mind about something, she became an unstoppable force. So when I heard that tone in her voice, I knew she wouldn't take “No” for an answer.
I felt my anxiety building again, and I took a step away from My Girl. The situation made no sense to me. Why would My Girl demand such a thing, knowing how uneasy I felt about all forms of confrontation? I didn't want to haggle with the shop staff over their “demonstration model”. I hated making a fuss in public, especially with strangers. And besides, My Girl deserved so much more than used goods, so much better. I couldn't understand her request at all, and I suddenly regretted bringing her here.
I looked down at the mechanical pig, struggling feebly against the chain, its pink fur faded from the elements and grimy from car exhaust. Why would My Girl want this toy instead of a new one?
I looked back into My Girl's eyes. Eyes wise beyond their years... and not entirely by choice. She had been forced to endure some of the ugliest things our society has to offer and broken free of the physical and emotional shackles that bound her. She had been psychically scarred and tainted by these experiences, but her inner beauty continued to shine through it all.
My Girl.
What I wouldn't do for her.
What wouldn't I do for her?
I wound myself up, straightened my back, flung the door open and marched into THE LAST WOUND-UP like a conquering hero.
I wouldn't take “No” for an answer.