Just One More Chapter

Chapter 5

On my way to the bookstore, I hear the faint sound of some kids playing in the park, reminding me of my own childhood. Everything was so good before that one thing. Good grades, many sport trophies, healthy relationships, and supporting parents.

I think that's the deal with parents, when you meet their expectations, they show you immense love and affection but the second you show signs of failure, you get abandoned.

I remember playing hide and seek with my friends when I was five, I always used to win, always knew the best places to hide. I had no idea that while growing up I would get this good at it.

I open the door of the old brown bookstore and it makes a creak sound. I take a step forward and the smell of books hit me. There's no such feeling that can give me more joy than standing in an old building surrounded by thousands of stories.

An old man looks at me from the counter when I start reaching for shelves at the left and he walks towards me smiling and says, "You're new here. Let me help you out. Which book are you looking for?"

His kind smile reminds me of my grandfather, I make a mental note to bring him some flower pots for gardening. "I don't know which book I'm looking for."

He laughs and pats my arm which makes me feel uneasy but somehow his genuine smile is good enough for me to not flinch, "Don't worry. Look around. Your book will find you." He walks away after pointing to a ladder I might need to reach for the higher shelves.

I look around the bookshelves and the names of the book. This feeling. The peace of knowing that you're surrounded by books and characters just like you, this must be what people call home.

A few minutes of looking through the bookshelves, I find an edition of a book that I've searching for a really long time, The letters of Vincent Van Gogh. I flip the pages of the book and stop in the middle, nuzzling my nose I inhale the heavenly smell of dead trees.

"Don't let your nose touch the pages." I flinch and turn around to the sound of a scary female voice. Joe. Standing there wearing a black tee and cargo black pants  and a black tote bag hanging on her shoulder.

I take a deep breath and mutter under my breath, "You scared me."

She steps closer to the shelf on the left looking closely at the names of the books on the spine, "I was looking for a book and I found you stealing a book."

I wasn't stealing but still somehow my heart decides to race, "I wasn't stealing."

"You were smelling the pages."

"That isn't stealing."

She stops and looks at me with the same serious reaction she always has, "Smell is the essence of the book. You were stealing the essence." I think I've heard this before.

She resumes her search for the book and I ask, "Can I help you?"

"I don't need your help."

"Consider the help as an apology for stealing the essence."

She steps back and crosses her arms, "I'm looking for Wuthering Heights but not the penguin classic version. There was one edition with a dull brown cover, it had a tree printed on it and it was in a very good condition."

"Alright. I'll search in the higher shelves, you search in the right ones."

We both get to work. I climb on one of the ladders near the shelf to look into the higher shelves and Joe stands on the ground looking in the lower ones. I turn into the C section of the higher shelves and find a brown spine with the title Wuthering Heights between two of Jane Eyre's Books. I take it out and it really is a beautiful cover. I wonder how good this book would smell.

"I found it." I say stepping down. When I'm finally on the floor, I hand her the book and notice a brown band-aid on the upper part of her hands.

She catches me eyeing her band-aid and quickly snatches the book from me and hides her hands by shuffling something in her tote bag.

"Joe." I whisper her name with a concern in my tone. I see Joe swallow something and I've never seen her this anxious. No, she isn't shaking, shivering or sweating, but her expressions immediately change. Her eyes widen just a little and her shoulders jump in.

"What?" She asks, hands still shuffling something inside her tote bag.

"What happened to your hand?" I question but there's something inside of me that's fearing the answer.

She looks at me like I'm the biggest idiot and wearing band-aids are common nowadays. "If I tell you, you'll laugh at me and I don't give that kind of opportunity to anyone."

I step forward and say softly, "I won't. Are you alright?"

She stares at me with confused, wide eyes with brows drawn together in a frown. I can't quite figure out her expressions, one moment she looked anxious and now she looks relieved and confused.

"I'm alright."

"Then what happened to your hands? I know it's none of my business but I need to know. I don't know why but I need to know." I have no idea why I'm panicking or why I'm concerned. I don't know her well enough to ask this and she doesn't know me well enough to answer honestly.

There's humour in her eyes and it's making me feel more anxious but I stay calm, I know how to.

"I accidentally burned myself while I was cooking." She confesses with a mocking smirk which never turns into a smile. I don't know if she's lying or telling the truth but I'm a little relieved because I don't think I would be have been prepared for the answers I was expecting her to say. This has become my life, connecting my past to people's present.

"Oh." I exhale the tension I was holding onto. Joe stares at me for a couple of seconds and then her eyes land on the book I'm holding, "Vincent Van Gogh. He was a masterpiece."

It takes a little time for me to process but the change of topic feels good. "I agree."

"Do you want to smoke?" She asks with blank expression plastered on her face.