Paper Flyers

Chapter 3 - Quinn

As I walked into the book shop my feet were met with black and white checkered tiles that would always floor Reed's, whether it was a restaurant, or a bookshop.

I scanned the room. The small family-owned restaurant had definitely become a small bookshop. Each table had books set up like pyramids in the center, the podium where I'd waited to be seated countless times had books stacked spelling "welcome," and the large menu boards behind the bar were still hanging, though instead of listing various Italian dishes, they now told of countless books and authors and where to find them in the shop, along with the shop owner's favorites starred with red sharpie.

The bar counter, like everything else in the place, was sagging under the weight of countless stories. I gently set down my dripping box of office supplies on one of the few empty spaces in the place, a booth. Then I walked over and began skimming the titles on the counter.

They were organized alphabetically by author. Over here were the P's". I absentmindedly skimmed the spines with my fingers, passing by Paolini, Palmer, and Pinter, investigated a book by Pizan, and let my fingers wander down the line. I was already starting to look around and try and see if there were any other costumers here when my fingers fluttered over the familiar letters spelling out Plath, embossed in the spine.

I stopped short and looked back at the line of books. Sure enough, there were four Sylvia Plath books in front of me.

Now don't get me wrong, books are great. I love all sorts of stories and characters from Harry Potter to Holden Caufield, but to be completely honest, nothing speaks to me more than poetry. It's as if the words are singing to you, crawling up your arms and leaving goose bumps behind, tunneling through your ears and into that awkward space behind your eyelids so you can feel the atmosphere and the language and each word sinking through your skin till you can feel everything the author felt.

I read all the poetry I could get my hands on, Walt Whitman, Poe, Frost, everyone. And I loved Plath. Lately I hadn't had much time, what with work and all but considering I'd be off for a while, I'd have plenty of time to read.

I decided to buy all four books and grabbed them one by one, leaving a gap in the wall. I was just about to turn away and try to find somewhere to pay when I saw something move through the gap. I turned around and looked back through. At first I didn't see anything, but when I looked towards the ground, I saw a freckled arm holding a pen and scribbling rapidly in a notebook. I leaned my head through the hole in the wall of books and saw the body connected to the arm, laying on the ground. The scratching of her pen sped up and slowed down with what I could only imagine to be the pace of the story.

"Uh... Hello?" I asked. But she didn't seem to have heard me. "Hello?" I said again, this time a little bit louder. She snapped bolt upright, dropping her pen midsentence. Once she was sitting up I could see she had ear buds in. She quickly pulled them out and stood up, cheeks red and looking flustered. She had been deep inside some other world when I'd talked to her and I felt bad for pulling her out.

"Hi" she said. She had a really soft voice, like she was afraid if she was any harder she could break something. Or maybe she knew what it felt like to be broken.

She looked around anxiously, getting her bearings in the real world and then turned to me. "Hi" she said again. "I'm really sorry about that, I really hope I didn't keep you waiting long, It's just that I haven't had any costumers all day, or all week really, and I'd kind of given up so I was just umm..." she trailed off and stared at me with nervous eyes, like she was afraid I'd be mad at her.

"Hey, no worries" I said, surprised at how much I believed in what I'd just said, even though I'd just been fired. "I was just looking to buy these books, do you think you could help me out?"

Her eyes darted to the small stack in my hand and then lit up like lightning lights up a dark sky. At first I thought she was just happy to have made a sale, but then she said "You like Plath?" "Oh yeah" I said with a grin, "Sylvia and I go way back." She looked at me like she was trying to tell if I was making fun of her, and I instantly regretted the joke.

"Hey, I was just kidding" I said. "I'm sorry. I really do love Plath. She's my favorite poet, but to be honest any poetry does it for me. I love it." I never told anyone I liked poetry. Well, I did once. I told my brother, but he made fun of me and I'd kept it to myself ever since. But the girl just smiled at me, like I couldn't have said anything better in the entire world.

"Me too" she grinned, and I smiled back. "My names Winifred" she said nervously, like she had just given away a piece of her she could never get back, and she didn't quite trust me with it. "Quinn" I said, sticking out a hand that she hesitantly shook. "Nice to meet you" we both said at once, and she giggled.

"So, when did you make "Reed's Eats" into the cleverly titled "Reed's Reads?" I asked. She blushed a little more at my complement, and played with her fingers as she answered.

"Last week" she answered. "The original Reed was having trouble making ends meet, so he auctioned off his property. I bought it and came here hardly knowing what I was going to do with it. But I had all my books and they had empty space, so I worked with what I could."

"Wait a minute" I said. "These were all yours? You've read all of them?"

She nodded and we both looked all around the restaurant. There had to be at least five hundred. "Wow" was all I could say.

"Do you want to take the tour?" she asked, and I took her hand, saying "Show me the way, miss" with my nose as high in the air as I could get it and a snooty voice that made her laugh. She had a nice laugh.

She pulled me through the front room and behind the counter, showing me all the books stacked in the cabinets and voicing her worries that no one would ever buy them. I comforted her, and told her of course someone would, that maybe the library would borrow books from her, seeing as she had so many. That made her laugh again.

Then she dragged me back into the kitchen, where the unplugged microwaves and stoves, empty dishwashers and drained sinks were also filled with books. She pointed out her favorites and why they were important to her and told me how her dad had given her the book "Witches" by Roald Dhal that had really gotten her into all this, and how she wanted to write a book herself. She told me that's what she had been working on when I walked in, and I told her that I fully expected a signed copy.

As she brought me towards the front of the room and saw all my office supplies, I explained that I'd been fired for being boring and she'd hugged me and said, "No worries, right? It'll all be ok." And I knew that it would.

I told her I had to leave then, because she'd given me a lot to think about and I really had to figure out what I was going to do. I tried to give her money for the book, but she refused to take it.

"Come on" I said, "You aren't going to be able to run the best bookshop in Seattle if you don't let anyone pay you." She reluctantly took the money and smiled brighter than I'd ever seen anyone smile.

I smiled too, then turned to go. As I walked towards the door she waved sadly, and suddenly looked like she was on the verge of tears.

"Hey" I said as I hefted my box of things. "I'm glad I was fired. Now I can come back and see you tomorrow morning."

"See you soon" she called and I waved as I left the comfort of the shop and rejoined a thousand other rain-soaked pedestrians. The only difference between them and me? I'd discovered the magical world of "Reed's Reads", and they hadn't. Not yet.

This Chapter (and all the Quinn chapters) by JustAnonymousForNow