There aren’t too many young people browse in our bookshop, unless
they fancy a latte on their way into town and get sidetracked. But this one looks like she’s come here
specially and hasn’t even looked at the coffees. I wish I could carry off red hair like
that. Look at it glinting in the sun, ruby
and copper, auburn and golds setting off her greeny eyes and pale skin.
She looks rather serious though, perhaps a little too much
like I was at that age. I wonder if she
has hopes of escaping this town, moving to a big city, marrying a handsome
doctor, just as I had. I hope she isn’t
disappointed too. It’s worked out OK
here, but not exactly what I’d planned for my life. I wonder what a 16-year-old me would say to
this 45-year old me. Tell me not to give
up so easily? Or that I did the right
thing sticking with Mother and Father?
The girl walks over to the shelves of the special collection
and I see her tilt her head to the side, reading names on spines. She glances from one to the next quickly
until her gaze stops on a book, in the history section it looks from here. She removes it from the shelf and holds it
carefully in both hands. I may be wrong
but I think she just inhaled the old books smell.
She approaches the counter and I look away, wiping a spill
so she won’t know I’ve been watching her.
“Can I get a coffee and read this for a while?” she
asks. I smile back and she asks for
black, no sugar, fair trade, so I tell her all our coffee is fair-trade.
“It’s for my boyfriend,” she nods at the book. “He’s in college with me, studying
history. I think this might have some of
the people he’s mentioned in. I’m not
really good with that kind of thing.”
I can’t imagine her being not good at anything she put her
mind too, but I don’t tell her so. “Take
your time,” I say. “Maybe something will
jump out at you. But we have plenty of
modern history books if you’d prefer those.”
I point out the shelves for her.
“No,” she says. “One
like this. A special one. He’d prefer that.”
I know what she means and I’m sure she’s right.
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