Falling For Seconds

Chapter One

"I'm going to need you to work in the café today; Julia's called in sick." The man that walked toward me looked like a character from a 1940's inspired tv show. He wore his plaid fedora tipped to one side. His navy button-down was tucked into black trousers. If he had a cigar tucked into the corner of his thin lips, he would've been the spitting image of an old gangster. He was in his mid 70's with a shortly trimmed beard that covered the lower half of his face.

My boss wasn't tall by any means, possibly only two inches taller than I. Contrary to his appearance as a once ruthless member of Al Capone's gang, he loved his little bookstore more deeply than I could comprehend. Even if there were paperbacks that's covers were ripped and showed obvious signs of water damage, he refused to let them go. 

"The story is still the same even if the cover doesn't look as appealing anymore," he'd told me as I pleaded with him to place the tired books in the clearance bin. Not that the store even had a clearance bin... I was also begging for that. 

The old owner would shake his head even at the enticing thought of selling more contemporary titles. 

He's enlightened me on more than one occasion that he had created the small oasis in remembrance of his late wife, who had passed from breast cancer almost twenty years before. He believed that ridding the shelves of even one novel would ruin the memory of his wife. 

"Of course," I speak while wishing I could somehow change his mind. The café was the worst position to be put to work, especially on days like today, when the sun was shining bright without a cloud in the sky, and the weather was warmer than it had been in weeks. No one was looking for hot coffee or a place inside to sit or read.

The little cafe was located at the front of the store, directly to the left of the main entrance. It had cream-colored, peel-and-stick tile covering the 20 feet of the rectangular area around the counter. Two-person booths were settled against a half wall dividing the cafe from the rest of the book store. At the same time, two round tables were spaced strategically around the rest of the open space. The furniture, even the appliances behind the counter, were all collecting dust as they waited patiently for a purpose. 

Everyone was out in the weather, taking in the short autumn ambiance before winter sets in. As bad as I wanted to join the growing crowds of tourists, I was thankful for the quiet escape of the bookstore. Though two huge glass windows were covering the front of the shop, I couldn't hear the traffic. It's was a nice break from the bustling city atmosphere. Everything seemed to keep paces at a completely different speed inside these book-covered walls. The old man stumbled around, adjusting his glasses as he completed his to-do lists, oblivious to anything else. 

I sat on a rickety wooden stool, my chin resting on my palms, listening to the clattering of the air conditioning. The sun cast shadows through the windows, and I observed as people walked by, their shapes moving across the floor.  

After sitting and twiddling my thumbs, I decided to start my homework. I was just two weeks into the semester of my first year of college, and already I was drowning in essays and other assignments. 

Before leaving my post, I placed a bell on the counter. "Anytime you leave your post, whether it be the barista in the cafe or the checkout lady by the register, you must place a bell on the counter," Dale, the bookstore owner, would say in his old smoker's tone.

He told me multiple times that he'd quit smoking a month before his wife had died; it had been her last, dying wish. He'd then proceed to tell me that she had nagged him to lay off the cancer sticks for ten to twenty years of their marriage, but he had never gotten around to kicking the habit.

Why I had needed to know this story, again and again, was beyond me. Most people who lived in the Northern states weren't the kind to stop and chit-chat about their past lives or childhoods. It was always very cut and dry, with no unnecessary conversations.