My Story (fictional)

One Sunday, with nothing else to do, I decided to go shopping. I didn't need anything; I was set for clothes, my cabinets were full of dishware, my pantry was stocked, and my shower had every necessary amenity. I began driving south out of town, and along the way I spotted a new bookstore. I pulled into the lot and read the glowing sign "Word Up!” The building was newly renovated but still held the dingy aura of the old flooring shop that once made its home there. When I turned my car off, I paused for a moment to think about what the place might look like inside. From all outward appearances it was sterile and abrupt to the eye. I preferred cozy dives, places with a rustic energy. Something to motivate my primal nature. I could care less about commercial aesthetics; the most market-friendly ceiling tile could kiss my patchouli scented ass.

When I entered, after pulling open the newly Windexed door that caused an involuntary brain twitch from the revolting ammonia, I was greeted by a chubby and serene gentleman sitting on a stool with a magazine in one hand and a Dixie cup in the other.
"Hey" he directed his pinkie finger toward me. I pointed back with mine and said, "whatcha drinkin?"
"Hahaha" he laughed and set his cup on the top of the cash register.
"Schnapps?" I said.
"Nah. More like my medicine....pretty pitiful."
"What?" I dusted the tops of my boots off with my thick Guatemalan gloves I won in a raffle during the local radio station’s 'EcoWorld-Supportathon'. He grumbled something under his breath about constipation and winter and then spoke.
"I have this medicine I'm supposed to take. It's like a solution...of Chinese herbs...?"
"You don't sound too sure about it." I looked around the store, noticing the industrial feel of the aisles. I wrapped my scarf around my neck once more as a nauseating chill ran up my neck.
"I'm not sure what it is actually, you're right." He let out a sort of tortured chuckle. "It just tastes terrible. Picture this, if you will: a gnarled and rotten ball of sour puss melted down...and mixed with shit from a camel's anus."
"Sounds good to me." I licked my lips. "Is it helping?"
"Sorry?" His red hair, glasses and chubby gut made him look like a nerdy Buddha clown. There were paperclips adorning the neck of his t-shirt.
"I mean, what ails you?"
"Oh, right...yeah. It hasn't really done anything that I can tell. I just get these really messed up cramps in my side. My sister orders stuff all the time from this guy in California. He's like some medical guru, but I don’t know if he's a real doctor. I think to myself sometimes, what was I thinking when I ordered this stuff? But God. She swears by him."
"Nice. Well, if you keel over I'll be sure to drag your body out back for someone to find in the morning." I walked over toward the "Local/Regional Authors" section where a handful of paperbacks sat up in strained bravado.
"That's really nice of you." His sarcasm was as bland as the newly painted walls. "This your first time in here?"
"Yeah. I live just down the road, heard about your opening. Been received well so far?"
"It's been good. Let me know if you need help." He tossed his Dixie cup toward the trashcan and missed. He relaxed back down onto his stool and suddenly a can of Mello Yellow appeared in his hand, like magic.
"Ok thanks." I made my way down the Biographies section and my eyes instantly met with an unsettling photo of Lucille Ball. Strangely introspective, graciously glamorous.
”I didn't know Mellow Yellow existed anymore.” I yelled out.
“It doesn’t. ‘Least not around here. This is from my stash…1999.” He grunted in pleasure.

I clenched my jaw at the lights and how they reflected off each book cover like lasers. My stinging retinas gazed around delicately while my pupils withdrew in agonizing rebellion. I sought relief at a small side table where there were ginger snaps and hot cider. "Mmm....this cider is amazing."
A customer overheard me and came over to try some.
"Is it really hot?" she asked.
"Yeah, careful." I took a cup from the stack and handed it to her.
"Woops!" she laughed as she brought her arm around the table, knocking some cookies out of the bowl.
"Oh my. You're making a mess. This place is new you know."
"Hahhaha, yeah, what’s my problem? I'm so clumsy." She picked the cookies up from the floor and stuck them into the pockets of her cheap looking ski jacket.
"I think the hand-eye coordination section is in the back, next to the carpentry books."
"Ok, right. I'll check that out.” Her smile revealed a youthful spirit trying to tear away from a poor life.
"What’s your name?” I asked.
"Diane. Yours?” She gazed at me with bold searching eyes.
I shook her frail hand and snickered at the fact that my Turkish scarf alone completely trumped her dollar store getup. "Mandy.” I said.
“Nice to meet you. This place is nice, no? I’m glad I found it. I was on my way to see my boyfriend and just decided to stop in. His birthday is soon, so I figured I might find something, but then I thought...he doesn’t even read, so what’s the point. But hey, I can enjoy it while I’m here, you know? "
“Oh definitely. My boyfriend doesn’t really appreciate books either. Loser.”
"Yeah totally, I know. Although, my friend dates this total nerd, and he like, gets so absorbed in reading, that he doesn’t pay attention to her. It’s terrible. I'd be so pissed. I mean, ‘Come on reject, before she dumps your ass for someone who’s too smart for books.’ ”
“Wow. I guess it would depend on what he was reading. I wouldn’t be as upset if it was a book on how to please your woman. ‘Page 17, paragraph 3, stop reading this book and be with your woman!’ ”
“That’s funny. Yeah. I think he reads books about aliens and Chupacabra sightings. I think that’s how you say it, is that how you say it?”
"That’s bizarre. I think it’s real though. People see their cattle all mangled overnight."
"Maybe it’s wolves? Let's ask the master.” Diane started heading toward the front counter, an air of apathy in her walk.
"Who?"
“Mr. Slen ‘Master’ Pages.” She pointed to nerdy clown Buddha.
“Oh man, I didn’t even notice his nametag.” I said.
“Hey Slen.” She rested her arms on the counter and leaned in, “Chupacabra...or no Chupacabra…?”
"Chupacabra baby.” He said without gazing up from his magazine. “My grandfather is from Mexico and he sacrificed my cousin’s baby to Chupacabra one night so it wouldn’t eat his flock of sheep.”
Diane gasped. I grabbed my stomach in disgust until I saw a sly grin creep up on one side of his face.
"Ha ha. Good one. That’s disgusting."
"Well, sheep are more valuable," he smiled and scratched the side of his face with his stubby finger, greasy and inked stained.
“It’s true Diane. They’re valued for their wool especially. You would understand why if you actually had a coat made of real fiber…” I threw her a wink, and looked her up and down in a degrading fashion. She adjusted her torso awkwardly in her blindingly bright blue coat...forcing a laugh.
"So what are you ladies...sisters or something?"
"Oh no. Ha. We just met."
"You look a lot alike actually. How old are you?"
"I’m 18." I said
"I’m 22." Dianne tipped the rest of the cider into her mouth, coughing when it went down the wrong tube. She frantically eyed the counter for a tissue. I grabbed the end of her scarf and placed in into her hand. She laughed while wiping her face, sounding like a psychotic meerkat with a broken larynx.
"And you, Master Pages?” I initiated. We both looked to him, trying to read his denial meter.
"Well after all this camel shit I’ve been drinking I better start feeling younger. I'm 38 going on 200."
"Here's a book on weight loss," I said. Grabbing it off the sale table I turned the cover so Slen could see it.
"Damn…You bitch…" he grabbed his stomach and his face grew long.
"Shit, you did not just say that...hahah." Diane covered her face with her slender hands and waited for a comeback from Slen.
"I didn’t say I felt fat. I was saying I felt old. But alright then...you just added 30 years to my life."
"It’s ok. You're average…and it’s winter, so you’re saved." Diane said trying to keep a straight face.
“There are more obese people now, then overweight people. New study.” I said.
“What’s the difference?” Diane asked in a cracked voice.
"Well...I hope to stay overweight. If I get obese, then I won’t want to be seen in public." Slen repositioned his ass on the stool.
"Don’t worry. You work in a bookstore. Most bookstore employees are homely," I reassured him.
"Thanks, again...thank you for that."
"Yes. My pleasure, Master."

Diane ended up leaving the store only moments later, to meet her boyfriend at his friend’s house. I hung around chatting with Slen ‘Master’ Pages for a little bit, and bought a memoir about a Hindu in the Scotland Highlands who designed beautifully elaborate hook-rug mandalas, went mental, and so spent the rest of his life to photographing leaf veins submerged in iodine.

On the drive home I pondered what type of tea I was going to drink while I sat down with my new book. I looked over at it, it sat there in the passenger seat next to a clean and crisp bookmark exclaiming in bright red font: "Word Up!" I rolled my windows down and breathed in deeply, the taste of cider still on my tongue. My pupils readjusted themselves to the light outside as I made my way into a busy aisle of traffic and headed toward home.