Book Store Series, Part 1

A little literary therapy....



I can never appropriately relay passion and anger. They are nearly always mistaken for each other when I try to do anything. You could say that's why I find myself here, sitting in this jail cell, writing a memoir. What else is there to do in this forsaken place? I certainly can't find myself a social group to belong to. Heh. Imagine that. Prison cheerleaders or inmate book club. I don't think so. Besides, I'm not the joining type.

You're probably wondering how I ended up here. A young girl just over five feet tall, arresting green eyes, barely even enough meat on the bones to call curvy, sitting in the clink. Well, I'd say that you wouldn't believe me if I told you, but it's not like I'm late for a hot date or anything so I might as well keep myself occupied somehow.

Picture this; a small town girl trying to make it in the big city. Oh yuck, I'm going to make myself throw up. But really, that is how it played out. I moved to New York City from a podunk town in the north to try and "make something" of my life. Little did I know, that would be the decision that changed my life forever.....

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"Hey, can you get the door? Money's on the counter." I spoke to Sophie's reflection in the mirror through a hair band in my teeth, as I tried to wrangle all my loose strands of straight auburn hair. I watched her walk away and when I was satisfied that enough shag was pulled out of my eyes, I turned on my heel and followed. I walked down a short hallway that had two doors; one directly across from mine that led to the guest bedroom and one farther down that opened to the bathroom. At the end of the hallway was an expansive room that was a combination living room, dining room and kitchen all rolled into one. The kitchen was just to the left, galley style, with stainless steel appliances and sand-colored granite counter tops. A half wall separated the kitchen from the dining area and the whole right side was all living room space. On the right wall hung a 36 inch flat screen plasma TV and a large dark brown leather couch was arranged facing it. Straight ahead were sliding glass doors that lead to a little balcony.

I inhaled that sweet satisfying smell that only an Anthony's pizza could deliver, and walked out just as Sophie was setting the source of the delightful aroma on the coffee table. I grabbed plates and napkins from the kitchen cabinets and we plopped on the couch with our pizza gold.

"So, what are the plans for this weekend?" I asked Sophie between cheesy bites.

"I don't know. Ollie told me about a new book store that opened last week and I am dying to go get my hands on some new reading material. Let's go tomorrow." Ollie, or Oliver, was Sophie's roommate. Secretly, I thought they were romantically involved, but they denied vehemently any time anyone even hinted at the idea.

"Do you really think I need more reading material?" I asked, nodding my head to the far wall behind the dining room table. There, from floor to top of a ten foot ceiling, was a wall of bookshelves fully stocked. "Not to mention the bookshelves in the bedrooms."

"Lily, you can never have too many books!" Sophie reached for another slice of pizza.

I couldn't disagree. I'd been collecting books since I was a kid. I had an e-reader, of course, but I still loved to feel the weight of paper in my hands. I loved going into used book shops and smelling the old tomes and imagining all the people who had flipped through the pages and embarked on the adventures. Contradictory to my respect for vintage books, there was also a whimsical satisfaction hearing that "crack" when you opened the pages of a brand new hardcover.

"Okay, sounds like a date."

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The next day Sophie and I met at the bookstore, which happened to only be a few blocks from my apartment. There was something about the windows that caught my eye, but I couldn't put my finger on it. The only thing that I might say is that you couldn't see into the store at all. There were books and knickknacks and something just murky about the whole place. A big sign that looked like an old parchment scroll hung above the windows and read "Trussman & Sons" in beautiful script.

We walked through the doors and I had to steady myself from the dizzying feeling that overcame me when I looked up. This building doesn't look this tall from the outside, I thought to myself. The center of the room was open like in a shopping mall and you could see up for floors and floors. Safely guarding anyone from falling, each floor was enclosed by railings of rounded brass connected to the top of intricate wrought iron designs. The lighting was dull and came from antique-looking large frosted glass orbs hanging intermittently around the store. Here and there were little clusters of old leather couches or armchairs, and some of them had people snuggled in, engrossed in their choice of tales. I took a deep breath in and was rewarded with that heady, aged-paper scent that transported me to another time, another place.

I was home.

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Aaaand scene. That's all for tonight folks. Thanks for stopping by!!


**Update-here's the link to the next part: Book Store Series, Part 2