Short Story – John Crocker – Reminder
John stood in a far too familiar book store, his aged, blue eyes glancing over the new releases with little interest. It was something he did every time he walked into the place. He had to check and see if that book was out yet. What book? He didn't know. He never knew. But he looked for it each time, scanning unfamiliar names and uninteresting titles with the same small smile he wore everywhere.
Then he saw it.
His smile slipped away as wrinkled fingers reaching out to the black, laminated slip folded over the book. Hand shaking just a bit, he picked up the printed tale and ran his fingers over the plastic. It wasn't the cover, nor the title, but the author's name grabbed his attention yanked at his heart. It begging to be known, a young face demanding to be seen parallel to the words.
Rose Lalonde.
John flipped the book over, eying the young beauty that graced the sleeve. She wasn't someone he knew, but she should have been. There was something in her smile that reminded him of someone, but the color of her lips seemed to light. They were a glossy pink with just a hint of sparkle, but he imagined them darker, black perhaps. Where did he ever get that idea from?
"You don't remember, do you?"
He could almost hear the whisper of a young man next to his ear, heat just barely tickling his skin. But he didn't turn to look. He couldn't. It was as if he knew no one was going to be there. "Remember what?" John whispered, his voice now seeming much older to his ears, as if he expected a young, chipper voice to leave his mouth.
"Remember us?"
John stopped, glancing over the face one last time. Slowly, he placed the book back on the table and walked away, leaving her behind him. She was just a new author, a fresh face. There was nothing to remember.
Was there?