'Til Death Do Us Part

Eight

I finished my muffin and chugged my coffee back, hot liquid burning my throat as it went down. When I left, I strolled down the street, periodically peeking inside the windows of the shops which were almost all still not open yet. Turning a corner, I was relieved to see the used bookstore was open and decided to waste time in there.

Although it wasn't necessarily the largest spot on the block, the bookstore utilized their space rather well. Books were separated into genres and marked by colorful square signs. I didn't enjoy one genre over another; I would read whatever held my attention. My parents had asked me if I wanted to read books online and offered to buy me a tablet last Christmas, but I declined. I already spent much of my time on my laptop (mostly for school), and on my cell phone. I didn't want yet another electronic thing. I knew that wasn't what I was supposed to say. Teenagers were supposed to love anything electronic or anything that promised to make their lives easier.

But there was something about books - real paper books - that I couldn't give up. The smell of them soothed me and I preferred used books because I liked the idea that someone else before me had read the same story I was about to start. I liked to see which pages had been folded on the top corners to save their place, wondering what had made them need to stop reading at that page.

Of course, I hadn't told Ariana about my parents offer to get me a tablet. She would've thought I was crazy to say no to that. Her parents were always into buying the newest and latest. Ariana had a new cell phone as soon as the next one was available. Her house contained more laptops, tablets, and video games than I could count. Even her twin brothers knew how to a navigate around an iPad. Their chubby little fingers would swipe across the screen, making them laugh and scream with delight.

Walking down the block, I was eager to hide out under a stack of books. I could lose myself in stories and forget my own life for a while, and that was the best thought I'd had all morning.

As I entered the bookstore, I took a quick look around, relieved when I realized I was the only customer. A twenty-something guy sat behind the counter, reading a book and pushing his glasses back up his nose every minute or so. I said a quiet "hello" and he nodded, returning to his book.

Grabbing random books as I strolled the aisles, I sat down on one of the overstuffed chairs they had set up for customers, and dropped the pile of books at my feet. I flipped through the first book, scanning over the pages before tossing it back to the floor. The next two books didn't hold my interest either and I wondered why I had even picked them up to begin with. The last book had better be interesting so I don't have to get back up again and find something else to read, I sighed to myself.

My hand reached down to pick it up and instantly I realized it had a leather cover. I stared at the front and backside of it, feeling defeated. I could already tell this wasn't the book to occupy my time; it was a journal, not a novel. I didn't even recall taking it off the shelf. I must have grabbed it by accident. I ran my fingers across its cover, feeling the grooves and smoothness it had.