Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

The Flea Market This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

Custom User Avatar
More by this author

“Can I at least get an ice cream?” I asked my parents, slightly miffed at them for dragging me to this fly infested place on a Friday night. “No. Just be patient and we can go back home soon.” My mom had a hint of frustration in her voice, though her face looked calm. I sighed and walked past the guy selling ice cream. Now I knew why this place was called the Flea Market, I thought to myself, swinging my arms over my head to scare away the flies. It was getting really hot, so I took off my sweater and held it in the crook of my arm. I rolled my eyes and sighed in annoyance. “Great, I muttered to myself, “Now I have to carry this around for another hour.” If there was anything I learned from going shopping for furniture with my parents, it was that they were always picky about the style of the furniture and would spend over an hour looking for the perfect stuff. The furniture in our house was mainly made of mahogany wood, matching the wooden cupboards in the kitchen.

  

After what seemed like half an hour, we finally found a booth selling wooden dining tables. Ours had broken recently-how or why it happened, nobody knows. As we made our way into the booth, a Mexican lady smiled at us. My parents introduced themselves and explained what they were looking for. As they walked around, I sighed and sat down on a dining table. I looked outside at the other booths. There was a man selling backpacks and suitcases, and another furniture booth, except the place seemed to be filled with couches. The third booth caught my eye; a young Mexican lady was in charge, and she was selling charms. A little girl nearby was crying, holding on to a charm bracelet that an older woman, probably her mother, was trying to pry out of her hands. Curious about the booth, I slowly stood up from the dining table and walked over to it. I gasped at what I saw when I walked inside; my eight year old self had never seen this many key lockets in one area. I picked one up to inspect it, then moved on to a display case with multicolored skull rings. “See anything you like?” asked a voice behind me. I whirled around to face the woman who was in charge of the booth. “Oh no, I’m just looking,” I told her. Pointing to the display case, I asked, “Are the gems on the rings real?” The woman shook her head. “No,” she replied, “They would be more expensive if they were.”


 “Oh,” I nodded then moved on to the other charms. After what seemed like hours, I was still looking at the charms and my parents still hadn’t gotten out of the furniture booth. Had I missed them when they left? Panic spread through me as I walked back to the furniture place and looked inside. An Indian family was talking to the Mexican lady who had been with my family, but my parents were nowhere in sight. I decided to go look in the furniture booth with the couches. As I walked inside, I realized that there were beds, dressers, and dining tables in addition to the dining table. I breathed in relief as I saw my parents talking to an old man. They were asking for a lower price, but the man was shaking his head. “No,” he said, “The delicate designs make the table more expensive than the others.” My parents, obviously annoyed, decided not to buy the table. They spotted me and walked over. “We’re not buying the furniture here,” said my mom, sighing in frustration. “It’s too expensive. We’ll just have to try a furniture store on Sunday.” I groaned inwardly, but just nodded at my parents. They looked really annoyed at the moment; I didn’t want to push them further. I pointed to the charm booth. “Can you buy me something from there?” I asked my mom. She looked at my dad, who nodded. “Okay,” she said. We walked over to the booth. I picked a silver key pendant with a fake blue gem at the top, surrounded by wings. Luckily, it was only around a dollar and fifty cents.
  

Happy that we were finally going home, I practically ran over to the parking lot…


And almost ran over a little kid. He was calling out for his mom and had tears in his eyes. My mom didn’t want to leave him alone, so she asked him what his name was and where his parents were. He explained through tears that his name was Raphael and he had gotten lost and couldn’t find his mom and sister. My parents decided to look around for Raphael’s parents. My dad asked him where he had last seen his mom. “They were at a charm booth over there,” he said, pointing in the direction my family had just left. “My little sister wanted this charm bracelet but my mom was saying no. I just walked ahead of them and now I don’t know where they are.” He sniffed, and my mom smiled sympathetically at him. “We’ll find them,” she promised, but I wasn’t paying much attention. I was recalling seeing the little girl crying at the charm booth, and her mother who was trying to drag her away. At that moment, someone bumped into me. “Sorry,” said a frantic voice. I looked up to see the mom from the charm booth. Excitedly, I called my mom over. When the lady saw Raphael, relief shown in her eyes and she hugged him. “Thank you,” she said to my family.


As we walked away, my dad decided finally that I could have the ice cream I had asked for. Then we finally drove home, and I eagerly finished my chocolate mint ice cream.




Join the Discussion

This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

Gopal said...
today at 7:19 am
Irock13, you are a very good writer. Keep writing. You really rock!
 
Kamala said...
Nov. 26 at 6:57 pm
Congratulations Bhavya! Keep writing!
 
Site Feedback