Bloom

21. ripping bags

Haven

My eyes roamed over the many shelves with second- hand books. The vintage shop was small, you could barely turn around, if you didn't want to hit a pile of books, at least. It was rather dusty, you could even smell it and plants hung at the side of the shelves, two at the door, and one in every corner.

The smell of eucalyptus, that were laying on the old, worn off painted counter, was strong, though, satisfying in a way- to me at least. Taking a book from its spot, I wiped the dust off it with my fingers and scanned the written words on the back of it. I smiled, old, romantic novels were my thing. I couldn't ever get enough of them.

Blowing a loose strand of hair out of my face, I smiled at Thomas when he entered the small shop, leaving the stockroom. "Haven Sparks, there you are again." The around thirty- five years old man smiled at me, showing his teeth.

"Yeah, again.." I chuckled, referring to the fact that I came here at least once a week. Therefore, he knew me, even knew my interests. Thomas ran the small shop with his wife, who I hadn't seen much lately, as they had a newborn recently. "How's the baby doing? Is he drinking properly now?" I wondered.

Thomas placed the box with heavy books on the counter, taking them out while sticking price- stickers to the covers. "Oh, yeah. That little man is doing amazing. He's a fighter. Actually on weight, now, so we're very thankful."

I gave him a genuine smile, my eyes searching for new books. "That is amazing, Thomas. I'm very happy for you." The baby had nearly died, as it was born too early. Though, with the right help of the nurses, doctors, God and his strong will to fight, he had made it.

"So am I, thank you, Haven." He scratched his short, dark, brown beard as he started to grin, glancing at me. "I've got something for you,"

He handed me a book and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for my reaction. Brushing my finger over the title, I smiled when my eyes fell onto the word Amsterdam that was written on it. "Ah! This is great. What is it, though? Oh! It's history about the city, ugh. This is amazing, thank you, Thomas." I rambled, flipping through the pages.

"No worries. Take it home for free. Thought you'd like it. Hey, I've got to sort more books. I'll see you around, yeah?" Once I had nodded and waved him goodbye, I couldn't help the smile that kept being present on my face as I flipped through the pages once again.

Amsterdam. When will I ever visit you?

I hadn't ever known why I was so fascinated with it, but I guess I wasn't the only one that was fascinated by something without a proper explanation. It was just something about that city, the language, that intrigued me.

Continuing to stroll through the shelves, my eyes fell onto literature and I stood still for a while, searching for a Philosophy book- until something else caught my attention. The small, red, pocket book read the title; You Don't Look Autistic, taking my interest right away.

Flipping through the pages for a while, I stopped when I read something about communication and eye- contact. When we, autistic people, don't make eye contact, it is not out of disrespect nor disinterest, nor purposefully. It can be that once you look into somebody else's eyes- you experience fear or find it stressful. It can also be that people don't understand the importance of it.

People need time to process the given information. Stammering can be the cause of not fully understanding the given information, or being in the process of processing the given information.

I frowned, it somewhat seemed familiar, it made me think of Zephaniah, who barely held eye contact, stammered at times and didn't follow the lectures, or my rambling, which was kinda understandable, but still..