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Nope.
I get lost in all the goodness which can be so hard to find in the real world. It’s one of the reasons I’ve worked in the store for so long, beyond my grandfather being the only family I have left. He took me in when my parents died.
I was only fourteen when it happened and I was devastated, but being in the store and getting lost in books gave me some sort of comfort. It was comfort I could only find between the pages of books and within the love of my grandfather.
I’ve never been the kind of person to have a lot of friends. I guess being the quiet one and kind of nerdy made it difficult. Not only did people have that shell to try and crack, but then add to it the grief I was trying to deal with from my parent’s death and high school was difficult. I was okay with being a loner for the most part.
It was a little easier when I went to college, and I found a few acquaintances. We bonded over books before I graduated with my degree in English, and all went our separate ways. None of them were long-term friends.
I do get a little jealous when I come across good friends or, more accurately, when I read about them. I wonder about the connections those friends have—the memories that bind them, the jokes that put smiles on their faces and the fun they have. I’ve never known that kind of connection.
Maybe I’m just not built for it. Just like I’m not built to find love.
I’ve accepted that it won’t happen for me. The fear of being a cat lady spinster is the only reason I haven’t gone out and gotten a kitten yet. It would be nice to curl up with a furball, but then am I just giving into the whole stereotype? I’m not willing to risk it quite yet, but I might soon.
I had a few attempts at a relationship in college, but it never worked out. I thought it would, but I found out how guys would show you one side of themselves in order to get you in bed, to charm you, but then would flip into the men they really are when they got what they wanted. That’s why I’ve only slept with three men in my life, and I haven’t been in a relationship for a few years now.
Why even bother?
I can get off just fine with a toy or two. They don’t let me down and, as long as I remember to charge them, they’re good to go when I am. I like it that way, without all the expectations and the heartbreak at the end.
The only thing that makes me sad about the whole thing is that my grandfather won’t have the chance to spoil his great grandkids. I know he would make a terrific Pappy or Pop-pop or whatever cute name a kid of mine would choose for him. He’d also spoil them rotten while giving them the same love for books he gave me.
It’s too bad, but sometimes life is like that and there’s not much we can do about it. Disappointment is part of living life. It comes in all forms, and we have to figure out a way to live with it.
Way to be too jaded than is healthy at 23, Marigold.
“You’re floating in outer space again,” my grandfather’s voice surprises me, and I almost jump out of my skin.
With a hand pressed to my chest, trying to get my racing heart to calm down, I turn toward him slowly. Does he look the least bit sorry? Not at all.
My voice is full of sass and recrimination, “Why do you insist on scaring me?”
Grandfather winks at me, “It’s so easy to do, especially when your head is in the clouds. If you didn’t want me to scare you then you should pay attention to your surroundings better.”
I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at him which has his laughter filling the space around us. The sound warms my heart. There was a time when he didn’t laugh. It was because his heart was breaking. I’m not sure if it’s fully mended, but it’s better. I know because his laughter has come back more and more.
It was hard on him when we lost my grandmother. She was the love of his life and they had been together since she was 18 and he was 20. It was a love at first sight story for the ages from the way they told it. I’ve always wanted a love like they had, the same kind of love my parents had.
It might be pessimistic of me to doubt it happening, considering I still have a lot of life ahead of me, but it’s getting harder to have faith. Maybe it’s because I’m older than they were when they found each other. Maybe it’s because the world is so different now than it used to be.
No one seems to want to go the distance anymore. Everyone has their head down or stuffed deep in the sand. They don’t see the world around them or want to put in any effort to change it, to make it better, to connect to the human standing right next to them.
In part, I blame the internet and social media, but at the same time, it’s allowed people to connect across vast distances. I’m just not sure if that kind of connection is real. You can’t touch it. You can’t see someone’s pain. Everyone is so glossy on social media.
Is it even real?
Maybe I’m no better considering I get lost in books. I’m not judging, I just wish it were different. Perhaps I could be different then too.
“You’re a mean old man,” I admonish my grandfather which has him laughing louder and harder.
He’s about to tease me when a customer comes up and asks for help. With a wink my grandfather leads them away and I get back to stocking the inventory I was working on. It brings a smile to my face because the new books we bring in are something my grandfather has trusted me with. He doesn’t even balk when I show him the new alien romance I’ve stocked.
You’d think a man of his age would twist his face or tell me it’s indecent, but he doesn’t. He believes there is a reader for every book and the perfect book for every person. He taught me that and it’s something I’ve lived by for as long as I can remember. There is no shame in what people choose to read, only joy.
It’s not easy being a brick-and-mortar bookstore anymore, especially one that’s not a chain. We have enough business and have been a staple in the neighborhood, but there is part of me which isn’t sure how much longer it can all last. Everyone is reading on their phones or another device, and people are ordering more books online. I’m guilty of using my phone to read, even though I prefer the physical book in my hand. I don’t have the space to have all the books I go through.
I can only hope that people will always need bookstores because of the connection they give you to books, or maybe just because of nostalgia for the way it used to be.
