THREE OR FOUR MONTHS PASS DURING WHICH WE DON’T HAVE TO SEE MORE PIECES OF ANDIE’S HAIR COME OUT OF THE CLIP AND BRUSH HER CHEEKS, WHICH I KEEP WANTING TO SPELL “CHEECKS” AND WORD WILL HAVE NONE OF IT
“You’re what?”
“I’m asking for two weeks off.”
Jess stared at Andie. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. All these years she’d tried to get her to take some time off …
“Three weeks from now. I know you can get someone to cover for me. I’ve gone over this very carefully—“
“Of course. Of course you have. Um, yeah, go ahead. You deserve it.” Andie thanked her and started out from behind the counter. “Um, where will you go? Assuming you’re going anywhere.”
“A place a friend has.”
“That house on the ocean? Your landlady’s? The one you helped with a few months ago.”
“That’s the one.”
The one that started this metamorphosis, Jess thought to herself. Ever since that weekend in October, Andie had started, well, coming out of her shell or something. She’d actually begun socializing some with the other workers, though she staunchly refused to be set up on blind dates. Jess suspected she was even taking an art class of some sort: she’d requested off all Tuesday nights for three months straight and had borrowed several sketching and watercolor instruction books. Could this woman actually be building herself a life again? Rebuilding her life?
Jess hoped she never had to find out how she would react to such a personal tragedy.
Turtle knew something big was going on. Andie had begun packing immediately, dragging out old suitcases covered with dust that made him sneeze. But he climbed in anyway and settled down.
“Turtle …” she tilted her head as she looked at him, seeing no reason to scold after all. “I guess you can stay in there for now.” Hey, he was a cat. He had to get into things and make them his. What did she expect? [NOTE GREAT CHARM OF ANIMAL CONNECTION AND GO ADOPT A CAT OR PUPPY OR UNICORN TODAY]
As Andie went through her drawers and closets, looking for beach-appropriate clothes, Mrs. Graves popped her head in through the open door. “Hello, dear, how’s it coming along?”
Andie frowned at the clothes gathered on her bed. “It’s not. Look at these clothes! They scream ‘I haven’t been shopping since there was a Soviet Union.’” [THIS WAS BOTH TIMELY AND HILARIOUS IN 1996]
Mrs. Graves smiled. “Have you been to the new Galleria?”
The woman turned out to have a terrific eye for fashion and knew immediately what would and wouldn’t be right for Andie. [IS THERE NOTHING THIS WOMAN CAN’T DO] They spent a whole Saturday at the mall and came home with three shopping bags full of new clothes for the trip. It had been difficult persuading Andie that some of the hipper or more revealing pieces really looked good on her, but the assuring nods of other customers finally did the trick. She even bought Turtle a new collar with a bell on it so he couldn’t sneak up on the seagulls.
Gryphon sat sweating and shaking in his bed for the fifth night in a row. The same dream plagued him now each time he tried to sleep. The ropes binding him to the giant table; the torches all around, blinding him to most of the people he knew were out there by the sounds of breath they drew; the thin old woman babbling in some language he couldn’t make sense of. And the feeling of having to be strong, not for himself but for someone else, maybe two or three others somewhere. Were they there in the crowd, watching with the rest? Or were they hidden among the trees at the edge of the circle? Or not even present, but waiting, comforting each other in a hut or lodge somewhere out there in the dark, praying for a miracle …
Chamomile tea. [NOTE SUDDEN AND CONVENIENT CONFLUENCE OF TEA USAGE!] That’s what his uncle had told him to drink on nights when he couldn’t bring himself to even try to sleep again. He’d had these dreams every once in a while throughout his life, maybe once or twice a year, but never in an unrelenting cluster like this. Chamomile tea. He had balked at the idea at first, but now, why not, what did he have to lose … He went into the kitchen and pulled out the box Uncle Dan had given him. Maybe he knew something after all.
The next afternoon he let his sister in. “We’ve decided to go to the beach for a few weeks at the end of February, hopefully just dodging the spring break crowd.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“We want you to come too. Can you get the time off? You haven’t taken a vacation in years.”
Gryphon rubbed his finger behind his left ear as he did when he was considering. “Yeah, I think I can. I’ll check tomorrow.”
“Jack’s friend has a condo right on the water, big and beautiful, four bedrooms, a sleeping porch, lots of space.”
“Are you sure you want me to come? You’re emphasizing space a lot. You want to keep me close enough to be at your beck and call, watch your offspring for you, do your wash on rocks in the river, scrub floors with my toothbrush, but stay away when you don’t need me for anything, do I have that right?”
“Beck and call. Right. You should be so lucky. Come on, are you ready?” He often went to the gym with Lilly and Jack, and when the latter couldn’t make it, Gryphon worked out as Lilly’s partner. She needed someone to push her or she’d never get near a Pilates class or break a sweat.
As they went through reps on the Nautilus, Lilly occasionally noticed women staring in their direction. How had her geeky brother grown up into the kind of man women blatantly stared at? She laughed quietly, but he heard her. “What’s so funny?” he breathed heavily, bending to reset the bench press for her and wiping streams of sweat from his forehead.
“The gaggles of women entranced by your ugly mug.”
“Not much oxygen going to the brain right now, is there, Lil.”
She tried to gauge whether he was truly unaware of the looks he was drawing and his powers of attraction. He seemed to be. “You didn’t notice? We are in the same gym here, right?” He suddenly looked sad. She dropped the subject.
[NOTE HOW REALLY BORING THIS WHOLE ENTRY WAS AND REVEL IN THE PROMISE OF TOMORROW]
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Your Cheesy Bookstore Romance Pt. 3
Andie was quiet on the drive out, as usual, but there seemed to be a little more going on inside. She felt it but barely paid it any attention, just enjoying the fresh smell of salt air as they got closer to the water. Turtle could barely sit still, and it was all she could do to keep him from climbing onto Mrs. Graves’s head.
They spent the weekend coaxing open doors and windows, scrubbing, washing, dusting, sneezing, coughing, and laughing at Turtle when a curtain he was climbing fell onto him or the seagulls taunted him just out of paw’s reach. “This is a beautiful little place,” Andie mentioned again and again. “How is it that it’s withstood the hurricanes?”
“Pure luck, really. Most of our neighbors have had to rebuild over the past few years. Now, dear, I need you to run to the market while I finished washing these linens.”
Andie walked through the small market, picking out the items on the list and an extra filet for Turtle. While waiting to check out, she started to get the sensation that someone was looking at her. She tried to ignore it, but finally glanced over her shoulder and saw the man who was watching her. She quickly turned away. He looked vaguely familiar, but she didn’t know where from and tried to pretend he wasn’t there at all. [OH MY GOD WHOEVER CAN HE BE] The discomfort made her face burn, though, and she hurried out with her bags without looking back again.
That night after dinner Mrs. Graves practically forced Andie to sit on the porch and watch the rhythmic rolling of the waves. “If there’s anything a body needs in the world these days, it’s to just sit and look at water.” Andie thought she had read that sentiment in a book somewhere recently. Once on the porch, she knew what her landlady was getting at. The water was soothing, healing somehow, seemed to recalibrate the most important parts of her. Before she knew it she was dozing lightly in the rocking chair with Turtle curled in her lap. She woke up an hour later feeling refreshed, cleansed, better than she could remember anymore. She took a walk on the beach in the moonlight, Turtle trotting along by her side and running after the waves. That night she dreamt of sun and waves and warm winds. It was the first dream she’d been able to remember in years. And it was the first morning in years when she didn’t curse the dawn for the waking.
On the drive home, Mrs. Graves thanked Andie for her help. Turtle slept all the way. Andie felt the surface of her skin tingling, as if something was just coming to life for the first time. Or after a long time dormant. She was breathing more deeply than normal. The ocean air demanded it, inviting itself deep into her airways and invigorating her blood.
On Monday Jess stared at her as she came through the door. “Good Lord, girl, are you sunburned?” Andie touched her cheeks and told her briefly about the weekend she’d spent at the ocean. “Here it is, October, and you’re already at the ocean. I knew there was a beach bunny inside you just bursting to get out.”
“Very funny," Andie said lightly and walked away.
“How was it?” Ernesto asked, popping out from classics.
“Beautiful,” Andie replied and disappeared into the stockroom.
As she dried her hands Andie caught an accidental glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped to look at her face more carefully, noticing that sunburn for the first time. Suddenly the face in the mirror was surrounded by green silk, a gold circlet binding her brow. In the mirror she saw trees behind her—tall, deep, wise, old trees. She whirled around, not knowing what she expected to see—and there was the same old bathroom, peeling pink wallpaper and all. Her hand flew to her forehead as she turned back to the mirror—nothing there this time. I must have been in the sun longer than I realized, she though as she tried to regain her composure. She began to brush back a wisp of hair that had strayed from her clip, but at the last moment let it stay there, lightly touching her cheek.
[NOTE GENIUS OF METAPHOR OF HAIR INDICATING SLIGHT CHANGES IN HER BEARING AND THOUGHTS]
Gryphon was lying atop a huge wooden block, strapped down with sinew and hemp rope. He looked around. A wizened old woman—whom he wasn’t certain was human—stood nearby, chanting, shaking a huge stick with the head of a ram carved into its top. Sweat ran down around his neck to his back and gathered between his shoulder blades, making a sticky pool beneath him. He tried to remain unafraid, though, by some instinct. For someone. He had no idea who, but it struck him to his very core.
Then he was sitting up quickly in his own bed, in his own apartment. He’d never felt so glad to be there. What had given him that dream? And why did it not really feel like a dream?
They spent the weekend coaxing open doors and windows, scrubbing, washing, dusting, sneezing, coughing, and laughing at Turtle when a curtain he was climbing fell onto him or the seagulls taunted him just out of paw’s reach. “This is a beautiful little place,” Andie mentioned again and again. “How is it that it’s withstood the hurricanes?”
“Pure luck, really. Most of our neighbors have had to rebuild over the past few years. Now, dear, I need you to run to the market while I finished washing these linens.”
Andie walked through the small market, picking out the items on the list and an extra filet for Turtle. While waiting to check out, she started to get the sensation that someone was looking at her. She tried to ignore it, but finally glanced over her shoulder and saw the man who was watching her. She quickly turned away. He looked vaguely familiar, but she didn’t know where from and tried to pretend he wasn’t there at all. [OH MY GOD WHOEVER CAN HE BE] The discomfort made her face burn, though, and she hurried out with her bags without looking back again.
That night after dinner Mrs. Graves practically forced Andie to sit on the porch and watch the rhythmic rolling of the waves. “If there’s anything a body needs in the world these days, it’s to just sit and look at water.” Andie thought she had read that sentiment in a book somewhere recently. Once on the porch, she knew what her landlady was getting at. The water was soothing, healing somehow, seemed to recalibrate the most important parts of her. Before she knew it she was dozing lightly in the rocking chair with Turtle curled in her lap. She woke up an hour later feeling refreshed, cleansed, better than she could remember anymore. She took a walk on the beach in the moonlight, Turtle trotting along by her side and running after the waves. That night she dreamt of sun and waves and warm winds. It was the first dream she’d been able to remember in years. And it was the first morning in years when she didn’t curse the dawn for the waking.
On the drive home, Mrs. Graves thanked Andie for her help. Turtle slept all the way. Andie felt the surface of her skin tingling, as if something was just coming to life for the first time. Or after a long time dormant. She was breathing more deeply than normal. The ocean air demanded it, inviting itself deep into her airways and invigorating her blood.
On Monday Jess stared at her as she came through the door. “Good Lord, girl, are you sunburned?” Andie touched her cheeks and told her briefly about the weekend she’d spent at the ocean. “Here it is, October, and you’re already at the ocean. I knew there was a beach bunny inside you just bursting to get out.”
“Very funny," Andie said lightly and walked away.
“How was it?” Ernesto asked, popping out from classics.
“Beautiful,” Andie replied and disappeared into the stockroom.
As she dried her hands Andie caught an accidental glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped to look at her face more carefully, noticing that sunburn for the first time. Suddenly the face in the mirror was surrounded by green silk, a gold circlet binding her brow. In the mirror she saw trees behind her—tall, deep, wise, old trees. She whirled around, not knowing what she expected to see—and there was the same old bathroom, peeling pink wallpaper and all. Her hand flew to her forehead as she turned back to the mirror—nothing there this time. I must have been in the sun longer than I realized, she though as she tried to regain her composure. She began to brush back a wisp of hair that had strayed from her clip, but at the last moment let it stay there, lightly touching her cheek.
[NOTE GENIUS OF METAPHOR OF HAIR INDICATING SLIGHT CHANGES IN HER BEARING AND THOUGHTS]
Gryphon was lying atop a huge wooden block, strapped down with sinew and hemp rope. He looked around. A wizened old woman—whom he wasn’t certain was human—stood nearby, chanting, shaking a huge stick with the head of a ram carved into its top. Sweat ran down around his neck to his back and gathered between his shoulder blades, making a sticky pool beneath him. He tried to remain unafraid, though, by some instinct. For someone. He had no idea who, but it struck him to his very core.
Then he was sitting up quickly in his own bed, in his own apartment. He’d never felt so glad to be there. What had given him that dream? And why did it not really feel like a dream?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Your Cheesy Bookstore Romance Pt. 2
Outside, Gryphon sat in his truck and tried to figure out why he had suddenly gotten so antsy when the bookstore manager started talking about his name.
Jess brought the UPS boxes to Andie to scan. “How’s that cat of yours doing?” Anything to try to get her to talk. “What’s his name? Frank?”
“Turtle. He’s been sneezing lately.” And she said no more. Jess took a moment to look her over. “Why don’t you let your hair out of that clip once in a while? Set it free. You’ve got really nice texture there you could work with.”
“I don’t think so. It would just get in my way.”
“Then how about a cut? Maybe some bangs, give it a little lift, like—“
“Thanks, no.” Andie got up and went into the back room.
“I have a real knack with people today,” Jess muttered to herself.
Andie, Gabrielle, and Jonah were the last ones to leave the store that night. Gabrielle and Jonah were headed for a late movie and pleaded with Andie to come along. As she left them for her car, Gabrielle shook her head. “How can you live like that?”
“That’s not living,” Jonah replied solemnly, looking after the solitary woman.
“Do you think she’ll ever shake it off?” Gabrielle wondered.
“I think it’s more a matter of coming back from someplace far, far away. Or of unlocking some doors. A shattered life doesn’t shake.” [NOTE ENTRY OF SENSITIVE FOREIGNER]
Andie unlocked the door to her room, put down her things, and lay on her small bed. Turtle came in from some other part of the house when he heard her, and sat down near her head, both in greeting and waiting to be fed. As her body began to shake violently with sobs, he moved to lean protectively against her side. She was all he had.
Mrs. Graves knocked gently on the open door. “How are you tonight, dear?” Andie took a deep breath and told her landlady she had a bad headache. She didn’t want to be seen like this. “Let me make you some chamomile tea, honey,” the woman replied and hurried off before Andie could refuse. Mrs. Graves knew this was more than a headache. And dear Lord, if this girl needed anything it was some company, to let someone in again, just a little, just a start. To let someone take care of her for just a few minutes. Mrs. Graves had respected her grief and privacy for over six years. Now it was time to respect the need in the heart Andie continued to ignore. Somewhere, a spirit waited, and slept.
[NOTE ENTRY OF FEISTY, WISE CRONE TO SERVE AS MENTOR AND FIRE-LIGHTER]
Peter was leaning against the counter when Mrs. Graves got to the kitchen. “Hello, Peter; what brings you around this late?”
“Just wanted to see my Aunt Gracie,” he leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“Bullshit, Peter.” His eyes widened. She never spoke like that. “You think I don’t see you looking at the poor girl? Notice you only come by when her car’s in the driveway? Leave her alone. You’re the last thing she needs.” She set about making the tea.
“Fine. So maybe I do hope to run into her. God, it’s been seven years since her husband died, and all she does is sit in that room with her cat! She might as well be 95 and lying in a nursing home! She could use a man!”
Mrs. Graves glared at her nephew with such ferocity that he felt he’d been slapped (which is what she really wanted to do). “She needs a man—and especially one like you—like she needs spikes in her head. No one else in this town will pay you any mind anymore, so now you’ve set your sights on the only woman who hasn’t had it up to here with your shenanigans. Go to a gym, Peter, or some pottery lessons. Stop prancing around like you’re God’s gift to my gender and get some self-respect. You think we can’t all see right through you? You’re a balding, overweight man who’s terrified of turning 40 and whose mother spoiled him rotten her whole life. I love you like my own, Peter, but it’s about time someone set you straight. It’s time for you to be a man.”
[NOTE ENTRY OF BUFFOONY NEPHEW FOR CONTRAST AND TEA DRINKING]
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Moreover, he couldn’t believe who he was hearing it from. Because, as he would almost admit later in the silence of his dark house as he waited for sleep, it was all true.
“That poor girl,” she kept talking as she lit the stove. “She’s got to be able to look in the mirror and care about what she sees there before anyone can get near her again.”
“She was very pretty once, wasn’t she?”
“Not the point, Peter. Look at me. Wrinkles, gray hair, loose pale skin, all of it. I’m no beauty and I never was. But I love life and I love my life and I’ve done all I can to try to bring a little good into the lives of the people I love. I like myself and the things I’ve done, mistakes and all. As long as my mistakes don’t kill anybody they’re OK. I’ve had good friends and a wonderful family,” she squeezed his arm as she passed to get cups down from the cupboard. “That girl needs to remember what life and living are, and that’s not going to have anything to do with a man at this point, though it’s going to have everything to do with love. It’s better if it doesn’t for now. She hasn’t cared about herself or where she fits into this world since Alex died. I’ve never seen anything quite like it in someone that age. If they’d been older, I’m sure she would’ve died shortly after he did, like so many old couples. But somewhere inside her is a string tied tightly to this world, a part of her that doesn’t want to leave yet. I don’t think she even knows it’s there.”
“Except she loves that cat.”
“Yes. Very true. Good insight, Peter. She does love that cat. That’s something. That’s the string.”
Andie had washed her face by the time Mrs. Graves came back with the tea. But she almost started crying again when she took it from the woman. She had no idea why.
Andie pulled even further into herself over the next few days.
One Thursday a few weeks later, Mrs. Graves came into the bookstore to find her tenant. She was in a bind and hoped Andie would help her. In two weeks, her late husband’s cousins were coming for a visit, and she’d promised to take them to her small house on the ocean. She’d figured on Peter’s coming to help her open the place up after the summer, but he had to go out of town. “We can bring Turtle, too; he’ll love it out there, all the nooks and crannies to explore, the mice to catch and birds to chase …” And somehow she convinced Andie to come to the ocean with her that weekend.
Jess brought the UPS boxes to Andie to scan. “How’s that cat of yours doing?” Anything to try to get her to talk. “What’s his name? Frank?”
“Turtle. He’s been sneezing lately.” And she said no more. Jess took a moment to look her over. “Why don’t you let your hair out of that clip once in a while? Set it free. You’ve got really nice texture there you could work with.”
“I don’t think so. It would just get in my way.”
“Then how about a cut? Maybe some bangs, give it a little lift, like—“
“Thanks, no.” Andie got up and went into the back room.
“I have a real knack with people today,” Jess muttered to herself.
Andie, Gabrielle, and Jonah were the last ones to leave the store that night. Gabrielle and Jonah were headed for a late movie and pleaded with Andie to come along. As she left them for her car, Gabrielle shook her head. “How can you live like that?”
“That’s not living,” Jonah replied solemnly, looking after the solitary woman.
“Do you think she’ll ever shake it off?” Gabrielle wondered.
“I think it’s more a matter of coming back from someplace far, far away. Or of unlocking some doors. A shattered life doesn’t shake.” [NOTE ENTRY OF SENSITIVE FOREIGNER]
Andie unlocked the door to her room, put down her things, and lay on her small bed. Turtle came in from some other part of the house when he heard her, and sat down near her head, both in greeting and waiting to be fed. As her body began to shake violently with sobs, he moved to lean protectively against her side. She was all he had.
Mrs. Graves knocked gently on the open door. “How are you tonight, dear?” Andie took a deep breath and told her landlady she had a bad headache. She didn’t want to be seen like this. “Let me make you some chamomile tea, honey,” the woman replied and hurried off before Andie could refuse. Mrs. Graves knew this was more than a headache. And dear Lord, if this girl needed anything it was some company, to let someone in again, just a little, just a start. To let someone take care of her for just a few minutes. Mrs. Graves had respected her grief and privacy for over six years. Now it was time to respect the need in the heart Andie continued to ignore. Somewhere, a spirit waited, and slept.
[NOTE ENTRY OF FEISTY, WISE CRONE TO SERVE AS MENTOR AND FIRE-LIGHTER]
Peter was leaning against the counter when Mrs. Graves got to the kitchen. “Hello, Peter; what brings you around this late?”
“Just wanted to see my Aunt Gracie,” he leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“Bullshit, Peter.” His eyes widened. She never spoke like that. “You think I don’t see you looking at the poor girl? Notice you only come by when her car’s in the driveway? Leave her alone. You’re the last thing she needs.” She set about making the tea.
“Fine. So maybe I do hope to run into her. God, it’s been seven years since her husband died, and all she does is sit in that room with her cat! She might as well be 95 and lying in a nursing home! She could use a man!”
Mrs. Graves glared at her nephew with such ferocity that he felt he’d been slapped (which is what she really wanted to do). “She needs a man—and especially one like you—like she needs spikes in her head. No one else in this town will pay you any mind anymore, so now you’ve set your sights on the only woman who hasn’t had it up to here with your shenanigans. Go to a gym, Peter, or some pottery lessons. Stop prancing around like you’re God’s gift to my gender and get some self-respect. You think we can’t all see right through you? You’re a balding, overweight man who’s terrified of turning 40 and whose mother spoiled him rotten her whole life. I love you like my own, Peter, but it’s about time someone set you straight. It’s time for you to be a man.”
[NOTE ENTRY OF BUFFOONY NEPHEW FOR CONTRAST AND TEA DRINKING]
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Moreover, he couldn’t believe who he was hearing it from. Because, as he would almost admit later in the silence of his dark house as he waited for sleep, it was all true.
“That poor girl,” she kept talking as she lit the stove. “She’s got to be able to look in the mirror and care about what she sees there before anyone can get near her again.”
“She was very pretty once, wasn’t she?”
“Not the point, Peter. Look at me. Wrinkles, gray hair, loose pale skin, all of it. I’m no beauty and I never was. But I love life and I love my life and I’ve done all I can to try to bring a little good into the lives of the people I love. I like myself and the things I’ve done, mistakes and all. As long as my mistakes don’t kill anybody they’re OK. I’ve had good friends and a wonderful family,” she squeezed his arm as she passed to get cups down from the cupboard. “That girl needs to remember what life and living are, and that’s not going to have anything to do with a man at this point, though it’s going to have everything to do with love. It’s better if it doesn’t for now. She hasn’t cared about herself or where she fits into this world since Alex died. I’ve never seen anything quite like it in someone that age. If they’d been older, I’m sure she would’ve died shortly after he did, like so many old couples. But somewhere inside her is a string tied tightly to this world, a part of her that doesn’t want to leave yet. I don’t think she even knows it’s there.”
“Except she loves that cat.”
“Yes. Very true. Good insight, Peter. She does love that cat. That’s something. That’s the string.”
Andie had washed her face by the time Mrs. Graves came back with the tea. But she almost started crying again when she took it from the woman. She had no idea why.
Andie pulled even further into herself over the next few days.
One Thursday a few weeks later, Mrs. Graves came into the bookstore to find her tenant. She was in a bind and hoped Andie would help her. In two weeks, her late husband’s cousins were coming for a visit, and she’d promised to take them to her small house on the ocean. She’d figured on Peter’s coming to help her open the place up after the summer, but he had to go out of town. “We can bring Turtle, too; he’ll love it out there, all the nooks and crannies to explore, the mice to catch and birds to chase …” And somehow she convinced Andie to come to the ocean with her that weekend.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Your Cheesy Bookstore Romance Pt. 1
Andie shelved Danielle Steele and Sandra Roberts books for the umpteenth time, her arms moving mechanically as her eyes located the proper spots on the shelves for the romantic interludes she held in her hands. The heated passions that throbbed between the covers were lost on this seven-year bookstore employee, however. There had in fact been a two-year period when she could not even go near the romance section without shaking. Then one day, it all went cold, and she noticed nothing of the half-clad lovers adorning these books, grasping each other, heads bent in desire and ecstasy. The repetitive task of shelving in fact had a hypnotic effect on her.
“Andie!” It had happened again. She had become oblivious to her surroundings, and the sudden voice made her drop the books in her hand.
“Jess, I didn’t hear you.” She bent to pick them up as the store manager moved to help.
“I know; sorry to startle you. Did you put aside a special copy of The Inferno for some guy this morning?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s here and I can’t find it.”
Andie left her stack of books and went to the front of the store. “Thanks, Number One,” Jess smiled. She got a real kick out of using Star Trek terminology with her employees. This store was her starship. Her employees made fun of her as a sci-fi geek, but many extremely ungeeky men were impressed by her knowledge of things Trek. Had those employees known of the after-closing rendezvous that took place behind life-size cardboard Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Word displays, they would never look at their manager in the same dorky light again.*
Andie knew, though. Jess had once talked incessantly of her intergalactic conquests, as she liked to call them. Maybe she told her because she knew her assistant manager would keep it to herself; maybe because Andie was such a matronly wallflower, even at 30, that Jess kept hoping to shock some color into her cheeks. She never knew if Andie took it all in, though, or if those words bounced right off her eardrums and back into the dusty air of the stockroom. Finally she stopped wondering and stopped the telling.
Jonah, Ernesto, and Gabrielle, who had been at the store about as long as Andie, had explained to Jess the behavior of the mousy second-in-command as best they could, for they had witnessed its cause—but had never seen an effect of this depth result from any other tragedy.
Andie had been one of the handful of adolescents in history to actually find true love in high school. She and her sweetheart married as soon as they finished college, she in journalism and he in molecular biology. They led an idyllic life until the day tragedy struck. Alex was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer that ate away at him almost as soon as they found out he was sick. In two short months Andie watched the man who was her heart wither away to a collection of twigs, heard him moan from the depths of his being with a pain whose echo she felt in her very soul, felt his spirit slipping away over days and weeks even as she held the warm hand that had protected her for so long from any harm. They were both 26. She had been working part time at the bookstore and part time reporting for a local newspaper, he at a local medical laboratory, putting as much money away as they could for the family they planned to start sometime in the next two years. Both employers gave her a leave of absence during Alex’s illness, and urged her to take more time after his death. They feared for her when they saw the collapse in her face, the utter vacancy in her eyes. Her spirit had left with Alex’s.
Her spirit had left with Alex’s last breath, but did not stay with him as his soared away. Instead it went into a dusty, unused corner of a drawer somewhere in the attic, curled itself into a ball, and cried itself quivering to sleep, hoping to either die or awaken when this part of the story was over.
She never again came close to being the person she had been. The only outward expression of any sort of grief or emotion occurred when she went near that romance section of the bookstore (to which Gabrielle had finally persuaded her to return), or near Faulkner or Marquez, Alex’s favorite authors. She left journalism behind, having no desire to participate in life, to reflect on it or pass it along to readers any longer. She moved into a ground floor room in an old woman’s house, where she had her own bathroom and kitchen area; one day let in a cat who looked cold and who subsequently never left again; and lived that way ever after, going to work daily but never really associating with anyone there, working weekends, talking to others only when she had to. Regular customers smiled and said hello but left her to herself. Jess was hired five years after Alex’s death.
By now she had stopped inflicting her lurid escapades on Andie, and in fact the escapades were becoming fewer and farther between.
“I’ve found my Klingon, my warrior of love,” she told Ernesto one day as they worked in the science fiction section.
“Good,” he replied. “Maybe now Captain Kirk here can sleep in peace.” Her eyes widened in astonishment as her brain tried to restart. “You mean you still don’t know that those air ducts in the back room carry every sound outside back there?” He reveled in the shock he had given her. Jess could barely face the other employees the rest of the day.
Even the UPS man, new as he was, noticed her unusual reticence and asked if she was OK. She took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She remembered the last UPS man and sighed in relief that he had relocated to Ohio. One fewer reminder of her exploits. “I don’t think I ever got your name, UPS man,” she said as she signed for today’s shipment.
“Yeah, they haven’t given me a name patch yet,” he answered, looking to the spot on his brown jacket where it would soon be. “It’s Gryphon. Gryphon MacFitzhugh.”**
Jess reached out her hand and smiled. “Jess. That’s a very Scottish name you have there, Gryphon.”
“Yeah, my ancestors went a little nuts with it. Thanks,” he hurriedly took the clipboard back and left abruptly. Jess’s forehead crossed as she watched the door shut behind him. What was that all about?
*note required entry of sexually experienced and knowledgeable female friend
**note author’s inability to cobble together an actual Scottish name
“Andie!” It had happened again. She had become oblivious to her surroundings, and the sudden voice made her drop the books in her hand.
“Jess, I didn’t hear you.” She bent to pick them up as the store manager moved to help.
“I know; sorry to startle you. Did you put aside a special copy of The Inferno for some guy this morning?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s here and I can’t find it.”
Andie left her stack of books and went to the front of the store. “Thanks, Number One,” Jess smiled. She got a real kick out of using Star Trek terminology with her employees. This store was her starship. Her employees made fun of her as a sci-fi geek, but many extremely ungeeky men were impressed by her knowledge of things Trek. Had those employees known of the after-closing rendezvous that took place behind life-size cardboard Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Word displays, they would never look at their manager in the same dorky light again.*
Andie knew, though. Jess had once talked incessantly of her intergalactic conquests, as she liked to call them. Maybe she told her because she knew her assistant manager would keep it to herself; maybe because Andie was such a matronly wallflower, even at 30, that Jess kept hoping to shock some color into her cheeks. She never knew if Andie took it all in, though, or if those words bounced right off her eardrums and back into the dusty air of the stockroom. Finally she stopped wondering and stopped the telling.
Jonah, Ernesto, and Gabrielle, who had been at the store about as long as Andie, had explained to Jess the behavior of the mousy second-in-command as best they could, for they had witnessed its cause—but had never seen an effect of this depth result from any other tragedy.
Andie had been one of the handful of adolescents in history to actually find true love in high school. She and her sweetheart married as soon as they finished college, she in journalism and he in molecular biology. They led an idyllic life until the day tragedy struck. Alex was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer that ate away at him almost as soon as they found out he was sick. In two short months Andie watched the man who was her heart wither away to a collection of twigs, heard him moan from the depths of his being with a pain whose echo she felt in her very soul, felt his spirit slipping away over days and weeks even as she held the warm hand that had protected her for so long from any harm. They were both 26. She had been working part time at the bookstore and part time reporting for a local newspaper, he at a local medical laboratory, putting as much money away as they could for the family they planned to start sometime in the next two years. Both employers gave her a leave of absence during Alex’s illness, and urged her to take more time after his death. They feared for her when they saw the collapse in her face, the utter vacancy in her eyes. Her spirit had left with Alex’s.
Her spirit had left with Alex’s last breath, but did not stay with him as his soared away. Instead it went into a dusty, unused corner of a drawer somewhere in the attic, curled itself into a ball, and cried itself quivering to sleep, hoping to either die or awaken when this part of the story was over.
She never again came close to being the person she had been. The only outward expression of any sort of grief or emotion occurred when she went near that romance section of the bookstore (to which Gabrielle had finally persuaded her to return), or near Faulkner or Marquez, Alex’s favorite authors. She left journalism behind, having no desire to participate in life, to reflect on it or pass it along to readers any longer. She moved into a ground floor room in an old woman’s house, where she had her own bathroom and kitchen area; one day let in a cat who looked cold and who subsequently never left again; and lived that way ever after, going to work daily but never really associating with anyone there, working weekends, talking to others only when she had to. Regular customers smiled and said hello but left her to herself. Jess was hired five years after Alex’s death.
By now she had stopped inflicting her lurid escapades on Andie, and in fact the escapades were becoming fewer and farther between.
“I’ve found my Klingon, my warrior of love,” she told Ernesto one day as they worked in the science fiction section.
“Good,” he replied. “Maybe now Captain Kirk here can sleep in peace.” Her eyes widened in astonishment as her brain tried to restart. “You mean you still don’t know that those air ducts in the back room carry every sound outside back there?” He reveled in the shock he had given her. Jess could barely face the other employees the rest of the day.
Even the UPS man, new as he was, noticed her unusual reticence and asked if she was OK. She took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She remembered the last UPS man and sighed in relief that he had relocated to Ohio. One fewer reminder of her exploits. “I don’t think I ever got your name, UPS man,” she said as she signed for today’s shipment.
“Yeah, they haven’t given me a name patch yet,” he answered, looking to the spot on his brown jacket where it would soon be. “It’s Gryphon. Gryphon MacFitzhugh.”**
Jess reached out her hand and smiled. “Jess. That’s a very Scottish name you have there, Gryphon.”
“Yeah, my ancestors went a little nuts with it. Thanks,” he hurriedly took the clipboard back and left abruptly. Jess’s forehead crossed as she watched the door shut behind him. What was that all about?
*note required entry of sexually experienced and knowledgeable female friend
**note author’s inability to cobble together an actual Scottish name
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