Falling Walls (III)

Chapter 12

Stepping into Binder's bookstore brought back lots of childhood memories. Having grown up in a small town, there were only so many things to do, and one of them was the local, three generation owner run bookshop, with adjacent café. I'd loved sitting there with my friends, drinking hot chocolate while studying, or just reading magazines and gossiping. Peeking my head around the corner into the café, I didn't recognise a single person in the quiet but packed room and realized just how much everything had changed. The brown timber chairs and tables were replaced by modern but comfortable looking red and green leather furniture. Antique looking bookshelves adorned the walls while warm red lights and indoor plants gave the room a homely look.

Tom and I had walked the fifteen minutes into the city to meet my High School friends Svenja and Katrin at eight, but had another hour to spare. Tom was outside of Binder's making phone calls when I had decided to forage for lectures which could give me ideas for work. Due to the rather small size of the store however, I mainly found books about stories like Tom's, written by, or about, orphans. The only exception was that the showcased stories happened at least twenty years prior to Tom's. I once again wondered if this was the natural time it would take Tom to process his past and to finally fully open up about it.

Trailing through the shelves, lost in the different sized and shaped titles, I picked the memoirs about twins who were forcibly taken off their mother just to be separated and adopted into two different families where one children suffered abuse and neglect while the other lived an almost fairy tale life. Apart from the narration of both twins who, at the age of forty-five, finally found each other again, the book also dealt with the many problems children of abuse suffered, such as gaining or keeping employment, relationships and other emotional and health related issues. Right next to the book was another, portraying the history of German orphanages. In the past I had preferred not to purchase books on, for Tom, touchy topics, and rather read on my tablet, afraid of Tom's reaction when he would find the books. But our relationship was at a different level now, and he opened up this path for me by appointing me his social responsibility manager. I was just turning to take the two books into the café to quickly flick through them while waiting for Tom over a latte, when my eyes caught another book. It was on the side of the same shelf, showing the front cover. Someone must have not put it back into its place properly. What struck me most was the picture of the lady in the red blouse on the cover. It wasn't out of the ordinary really, but something about that kind smile and the sadness in her eyes caught my attention. Wasn't it for the sorrow mirrored in her expression, she could as well have been a politician, a psychologist or historian. Instead, the book told the story of a mother's search for her long lost toddler son after a failed attempt to flee the former German Democratic Republic. This book could shed some light on a completely different angle of the problematic and would cover a more recent episode of history.

With all three books clutched under my arm, I fished my purse out of my bag to order my latte. I just loved the strong and spicy aroma of coffee that hung in the air. A quick glance at my watch revealed that we had another forty-five minutes before we'd have to make our way to the restaurant across the road.
Tom had been busy on the phone for a big part of the day and I didn't expect him to be finished any time soon. From the bits and pieces I had overheard earlier, it sounded like they were facing some issues at the head office in Hamburg but Tom didn't mention anything, and I didn't feel like digging for information.

Sitting down on a corner table, I noticed the now familiar face of one of the bodyguards standing opposite from me. I tried to ignore his presence, reminding myself of his necessity, placed the books in front of me in a neat pile before taking a pleasurably soothing sip of the latte. With my lips, I licked off the remaining milk foam around my mouth.

Opening the top book about the twins, I began flicking through the pages. Every word which appeared in front of my eyes pushed a picture of Tom in my mind: Tom as a little boy, scared, alone. I realised that I didn't want to deal with this after all, not tonight. Tonight, I wanted distance from his past, I just wanted us in the here and now. With that decision in mind, I closed the book with a deep sigh. For a while, I stared at the empty seat across from me, then I took another sip of my latte and deliberately reached for the bottom book, about the mother searching for her son. At least this story would keep some distance by focusing on another perspective, a mother's pain.