Prompts by HB - 7. Prompt #597

How does he always know what to say? It’s like everything that comes out of his mouth transforms from mere words into a magical spell that enthralls me, mesmerizes me, leaves me clamoring for what comes next. And when I try to respond, the gurgling sounds that emit from my vocal chords barely mimic a human language, let alone convey any understandable meaning.

I met him by chance. Because I had time on my hands and the sign on his bookstore caught my eye, so I went in to take a look. I didn’t know it was his store at first. I didn’t know who he was. But as I browsed the displays and ran my fingers along the spines of the books on the shelves, something about that store spoke to me. And then he spoke to me. And I was changed forever.

His voice was raw, like he smoked too many cigarettes, chased by coffee in the mornings, beer in the evenings, and coffee again into the wee hours of the night. His tone was immediately familiar, like we were life-long friends rather than strangers who had just set eyes on each other. And his words caught me in their trap and never let me go.

He led me to stories that manipulated my heart, beat it to a pulp and then bandaged it back up. Stories that opened my eyes to worlds I was only vaguely aware of and painted them in such vivid colors that they felt real to me. Stories of people as broken and flawed as I was, and yet still managed to achieve that elusive happily ever after. One after another, he placed in front of me stories that changed me. How he knew which ones to give me, I will never know.

Initially, I thought it was only me. I thought I was the only one on whom he had spun his magic. But then, one day I was reading a book he gave me while sitting at a café and the waiter said she had read that same book and had loved it. She said she had picked it up at the local bookstore down the street. We spent a few minutes gushing about his magic and then went our separate ways.

The same thing happened at the supermarket with the cashier when I pulled a book out of my bag while trying to find my wallet. And at the post office with the customer in front of me while I was reading in the long line. And then again at the mechanic’s garage when I was waiting for my car. Everywhere, I ran into people who had gone to the bookstore, spoke with him and left with a story that touch them like nothing else ever had before.

I was far from unique. We all were caught under his spell.

I wanted so much to give back, to show him how much his bookstore meant to me. How much my interactions with him turned my world upside down in a way that felt right side up. How much I yearned to visit, listen to him string together words that promised the universe, and then walk away with that universe contained between the two covers of a book.

I showed up one day and pushed the door open with a silly, goofy grin on my face, my bag weighed down with treasure. The bell on the door jingled and he popped his head around a shelf in the back.

“Hey!” One word. Simple. And yet it was everything.

“Hi,” I croaked.

“How’s it going? How did you like Beyond Hope?” He came toward the front of the store, books in his hands.

“Good. Great. It was great.” I couldn’t get the stupid grin off my face.

“That’s fantastic. So, what are you looking for today?” He placed the pile of books down on the counter.

“Um, actually.” I reached into my bag and pulled out an old tattered book. The binding was coming undone, pages were falling out, the front cover ripped almost in half. “I was wondering if you maybe had a copy of this book? I know it’s really old and kind of different from the other books you carry. But it’s my favorite and I love it, even if it’s kind of unusual. I read it all the time and it’s sort of falling apart, so I thought that you might have a copy or perhaps you’d be able to order a new one for me, please?”

I held out the book with both hands, trembling, fingers clenched tight to keep the pages in place. A look of surprise passed across his face as he took the book from me. He glanced at it, brows dropping low over his eyes like rocks falling from the sky.

“No.” One side of his mouth curled up in a smirk and he tossed the book onto the counter. A section of pages flew loose and floated to the floor behind him. “Sorry. But you should really consider this book I just got in. It’s about…” He turned and walked across the store.