The Springer Building

This is the story of an old fashioned ice cream parlor that I used to work at. I spent several hours digging through old records at city hall before writing this story.

I was born in a storm of bricks and plywood, pasted and nailed together by the hands of men. Glass windows decorated my face and I was given two doors. One for the man who owned me, and one for everyone else. When I was completed I sat much shorter than my brothers and sisters across and beside me. I was filled with wood, and from my belly could be heard the grinding of saws and the pounding of hammers. If you opened my doors you would have smelled sawdust, and if you opened your mouth you could taste it on your tongue. Many people walked through my doors and left burdened with furniture.

 

From my perch above the dusty street I could see horse-drawn carts pulling people to and from my doors. If I bent my neck and looked over my shoulder I could see a lake behind me. In the summer there were the sounds of people playing on the water, and in the winter were the sounds of people skating on the ice.

 

During this time many more buildings were built on my street. They started as skeletons made of wood and nails but were patched together with bricks and mortar. Next to me sat the oldest building on the street. He was much taller than me. His old shingled face looked like a massive beard. When people opened his doors I could smell the leather of saddles and harnesses. After some years, the man who owned me bought the building next door. He knocked down the walls that stood between us and filled our insides with all kinds of new objects. He hung a metal sign on our faces that read, “F. N. Briggs Dept. Store.”

 

Time passed and I grew older than man. I watched newborn babes grow into old men. I watched young people fall into love and fall through to whatever was beyond. I watched the man who owned me grow old and die, passing me on to two new men who changed the sign above my door to read, “Ferguson-Morrow Supply Company.” They also grew old and left and when they went away they took the name with them. I cannot remember any of the names I was given after that, but I remember the people who gave them to me which is the same thing. I began to understand the tall shingled face that stood next to me. I understood the cracks in his bricks and the dust in his rafters.

 

Time passed, as it always does, and the walls that were torn down were built up again. The shingled old man went his way, and I went mine. And I became a shoe store. Boxes and boxes of shoes filled the new shelves along my sides. There were also benches and stools where poor farmers measured their feet, and rich businessmen polished their shining black footwear. During this time many kinds of people walked through my doors. It was nice to see so many different faces, especially the children. I had not known many children until then, but now I know plenty. I found comfort in their happy faces. I found comfort in the fact that everyone needed shoes.

 

The world changed around me. The dusty roads beneath me were painted black, and I stopped seeing horses. Instead, I saw carts that pulled themselves. At first they were all black but eventually there were other colors. And I continued to change. For a while I sold hats. For a while I was an office, serving the business of men.  The streets around me gave birth to new buildings and I became one of the oldest on my street. The old man still sits next to me. He is almost never awake any more, but it's nice when he is. It’s nice to have someone who has seen the same things as me. He feels this way too. But he has also seen many things that I haven't.

 

Inside of me, men built counters and tables and I became a coffee shop. People walked through my doors to be with each other and not just to buy things. It was a nice change. It also kept me busy. Busier than I had ever been. My tired eyes just couldn't keep up with the people who went through my doors, but I didn’t mind. Eventually they brought in big machines and freezers, old equipment, the likes of which I had not seen for many years. I still gave coffee, but now I gave ice cream, as well. My tables were filled with children shouting and spilling ice cream on my floors. It was the happiest I had ever been. And that is where I stand today. It is autumn. Business is slowing down and I will have time to sleep. Next summer I will be busy again. Inside of me, children will play and adults will talk. My tired eyes won't keep up with everything that I see.  But I won’t mind.

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