tethered hearts

Sylvia Plath

(Her)

I chewed my gum in quiet concentration as I carefully selected a vintage hard cover from the dusty shelves. I ran my fingers along the worn leather binding and flipped through the pages.

It was an old copy of The Bell Jar, one of the few classics I'd actually read. I love books, but something about trying to decipher antique writing gave me a headache, so I tended to stick to more contemporary literature.

Still I held onto it because as insufferable a time reading it was, the feeling I was left with when I finished it was worth the trouble. A woman's turmoil is something I can relate to I suppose.

"Find something interesting?" A voice in front of me asked. I looked up to see a boy about my age, tousled auburn hair that hung near his eyes but was shorter on the sides, and dark brown irises that seemed all too mischievous for someone like me.

"Depends on who's reading it." I replied curtly, returning my gaze to the dry pages of the book. The boy leant against the shelves, too close for my liking. It was cold in Ottawa, so I had bundled in many layers, but he was wearing only a black crew neck and a denim jacket. Chuckling at my comment he towered over me,

"I guess I wouldn't know, I don't read much." He said with a smile that bordered a smirk.

"Why lurk in a bookstore then if you 'don't read much'?" I replied with perhaps a bit too much sarcasm for a stranger to deserve, but I wasn't particularly interested in conversing with a stranger to begin with.

"You wouldn't believe the gorgeous women that shop at bookstores, I guess it's an easy hookup spot." He quipped, as if this comment was supposed to come off as charming. And maybe to an eligible singleton it might, but to myself it was plain annoying. I rolled my eyes and maneuvered around him, under his arm resting on the shelf above my head.

"Preying on intellectual women who never asked for your attention, how's that working out for you?" I asked rhetorically. He swerved back in front of me to cut me off from the front of the bookstore,

"I'll let you know when we finish this conversation." He flirted shamelessly. I should be flattered, or at least that's what someone would tell me. He's handsome, especially for a shit town like this one. But romancing a stranger in a bookstore wasn't a scenario I anticipated when I decided to window shop.

I looked at him, the disinterest on my face quickly morphing into annoyance.

"I hate to spoil it, but it ends with you, alone, scouting your next victim." I pushed past him once again approaching the counter and placing my book on top. The clerk looked tired and asked if I wanted anything else. I declined and paid for my book, all while Prince Charming loitered next to me like an irritating shadow.

I opened the doors to the entrance and braved the cold air as it bit my cheeks, shuffling down the sidewalk towards the bridge. The bells jingled an annoying ring and an even more annoying sound followed,

"Wait up!" He jogged towards me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Why can't you just talk to me?" I shrugged his hand off my shoulder.

"Why can't you respect a girl's personal space?" I bit angrily. He only met my frustration with a laugh.

"You wanna know what I think?" He asked.

"I'd rather jump off this bridge."

"I think," he continued, ignoring my plea for him to shut up, "that deep down you enjoy this flirting. That every little quip back and forth is the kind of banter you long for in real life but settle for in books. I think you're enjoying this, I see it in your eyes." He narrowed his eyes teasingly at me, as if he was daring me to deny it.

"And I see desperation in yours." I challenged, meeting his gaze with full ferocity. He pulled out a scrap paper with 10 digits and a name on it.

"At least consider me then." He said, pushing the paper in my free hand. I shoved it in my pocket and forged a sickly sweet smile on my lips.

"Oh perfect! Now I have something to spit my gum into later." I dropped the smile and turned to keep walking.

"Nothing you can say would stop me from trying!" He yelled after me.

"What if I told you I had a boyfriend?" I finally said, hoping the confession would finally end his adamance. It was true anyway, I did in fact have a boyfriend. But I tend to omit that fact in conversation some days because once you say you're someone's girlfriend, people start to view you as property. Some days, I guess, I like to be my own person.

I waited for him to give up, but instead his look of confusion was replaced with a cocky expression.

"I'd say that you must not be in love, because if you were, you would've ignored me a long time ago." He crossed his arms looking pleased with himself.

"You're incorrigible!" I yelled in defeat, and let out a sort of exasperated sigh. I shook my head and trudged down the sidewalk away from this stranger who seemed a little too insightful for my taste.

"I am, I am, I am." He said slow and concisely. And I stopped in my tracks for a moment, before I continued. Many things ran through my head the whole walk home, but more than the rest was one thing;

How someone who claims he 'doesn't read much' just quoted Sylvia Plath to me.

Or perhaps I had just read too many romance books.