April Showers, May Flowers

Untitled Part 1

Chapter 1

April Showers stood between the stacks of books in the dimly lit bookstore in town. She could see thousands of books stacked neatly on the mahogany shelves, each telling a story that would suck you in and refuse to let you go, leaving a certain sadness when you read the final sentence and close its lids. Years of dirt, mold, and wear, perfectly preserved on the ancient pages, released a musty smell that wafted through the air to April's nose. Her senses were alive in this haven as her hands roamed from cover to cover, raising each book into the sunlight to examine the title and the condition of each book. April wasn't a book collector, per say, but she did enjoy finding antiquated treasures she could take home and give a place on her book shelf. Some of the leather covers were cracked and frayed—deep lines running like cracks in the pavement after an earthquake, jutting this way and that way, a playful dance. Other volumes looked as if they had arrived yesterday, fresh from the press, the smell of ink and leather pungent. Some had ornate gold patterns etched into the covers; others were simple, a title and an author.

An elderly gentleman walked around the shelves where April stood. His cane tapped against the carpet, a steady drum beat like a soldier keeping time for his comrades as they marched to battle. Through his brown corduroy suit, April could see his back curved like a snake, leaving him with a stooped posture that forced him to raise his head in order to see you properly. He lifted a withered hand, marred by age with blemishes that looked like freckles spattered about.

"Would I be able to help you with anything, Miss—?" He smiled as he let the pause diminish. His lips curled, showing his false teeth, giving him the appearance of an oversized rabbit. The teeth were too large for his mouth, and it made his smile awkward.

"Miss Showers," April said taking him by the hand and shaking it politely. "April Showers. And you are?"

A curious look filled the man's eyes as he heard April's name. Cogs deep in his mind began to turn like the inner-workings of a clock that had been dormant for years, dislodging dust and cobwebs as it began to tick again. He shook her hand a little too vigorously as he spoke.

"Alvis Spindle at your service, ma'am." He bowed slightly, sweeping his hand to the side as a royal gesture and then returning to his hunched, upright position. "Been running the bookstore for 'round twenty years now." Another awkward smile spread across his face. "Did you say your name was April Showers?"

A look of confusion passed across April's face at the question. She had just finished telling him that her name was April Showers, but she shrugged the thought away, supposing his hearing wasn't as good as it had been in the past.

"Yes, sir." Blood rushed to her face unexpectedly, and she blushed. "April Showers is my name."

Light flooded back into the old man's eyes as if he had remembered something of the utmost importance—something that had escaped him long ago, and he had been trying to find it, willing it to return to him.

"You know what they say about April Showers, don't you," he said propping his cane against the bookshelf and rubbing his palms together in front of him like a child preparing to perform a magic trick he hasn't quite mastered yet.

"No, sir. I don't,"

Alvis gasped, startling April. "Why, dear girl." The old man paused as if for effect. "April Showers bring May flowers."

April began to ponder this in her mind. She was certain she had heard this phrase before, but from who, escaped her. It was such a simple phrase, but its simplicity made sense to her. Had her parents thought of that phrase when they chose her name?

Realizing that Alvin was staring at her, she answered, "They certainly do, sir,"

She was beginning to feel nervous as the man stood talking with her. She didn't mind talking to him, but when the conversation grew tiresome, she turned back to the books. Alvis hesitated before speaking again. He knew that he had talked on and on like he normally did, but not everyone was accustomed to his chatter. She was probably a woman of few words.