As I sit behind a huge set of boxes, that I have conveniently stacked so I am invisible to the outside world, I take inventory of my life. My name, Phoebe Harms. My age, sixteen. My mission, to somehow unpack, label, put into inventory and put away six huge boxes of books my mother ordered; before she left the country to meet with a writer she helped get published. I let out an exasperated breath. I can hear Jared my boyfriend and co-worker humming to himself, luckily for him he picked heads so I was left with the stocking while he holds down the cash register. As if anyone would venture in today. Most of the college kids have gone home for winter break or have better things to do than hang out in a bookstore/café/whatever will make money store. Chicago seems to be trying to prove herself as the windy city today because I can feel the wind in my bones as I hear it bat against the front doors. Just start already, I think to myself. I lift my headphones up to my ears and let the music play loudly. All I can think of is tonight. Whenever my mother leaves (a very rare occasion) my father and I have a feast. By feast I mean three different kinds of take-out food and movies.
My dad, Jacob Harms, works construction and is probably hundreds of feet up right now working on a sky scraper. My mother Anastasia, is probably have tea in London, hopefully ears burning from the profanities I am whispering as I take out stack, after stack of books. My parents are technically divorced but, you would not know it. Our house looks quite normal on the outside but it is actually a two flat brownstone located on the north side of Chicago. My mom and I live upstairs and my father lives downstairs. Although my parents are divorced we still do everything together meals, trips and holidays. I do not really question why anymore, they are enigma I will not try to understand.
I have lived in Chicago my whole life. My parents met here after my mom moved from somewhere in Washington to Illinois. My parents married when I was a couple months old and divorced when I was almost six. A piece of hair falls into my face while I am slapping on labels in the front cover of the books I have just unloaded. I quickly re-do my ponytail so that I can put a dent in this inventory before 5pm. As I try to make my hair cooperate, I cannot help but cursing my mother again for not giving me any of her genes. I have the same color brunette hair but, it has never laid straight and perfect. Often my hair is unruly and wavy. I begin to ponder more on this subject. My mother is short and lean while I have been taller than her since high school and built more like an athlete than a ballerina. My eyes do not match either of my parents, for they are blue while mine are grey. My dad always tells me I look just like his grandmother when she was young and my mother usually says nothing on the subject. My dad has very blonde hair, and is not much taller than me, I do not see myself reflected in him.
I realize I have quit working while pondering my heritage so I begin again, this time faster. I have just completed my second box when Jared strolls down the aisle. He has the stupidest grin on his face while he slowly walks towards me.
"See, this is why you should never try to beat me in a coin toss Pheebs, because I always win", he chuckles.
"Jared I would suggest going away before I throw one of these books at your head," I mutter.
But he does not leave, instead he laughs at me while grabbing a box of books. I guess he has decided to help me after all. I suspected as much. Jared is far too happy for his own good and enjoys everything about life. He keeps humming away as we continue to unload and label the books.
It is four thirty when the familiar bell chimes letting us know someone has entered the store. Jared and I give each other quizzical looks wondering who would be here. I smile as I wave my hand in front of me letting him know customers are still his job today. He rolls his eyes, stands up and walks down the aisle toward the counter. My bulky head phones are around my neck, I turn up my music now that Jared and I are separated. I can still hear the conversation unfolding though.
"Good afternoon sir, how may I help you", Jared begins.
"I am looking for Anastasia", the man inquires in a no nonsense tone.
"I am sorry but, she is not in today maybe you would like to speak to her daughter", I can sense the smile playing on Jared's lips as he calls my name.
Ugh, I grown, as I lift myself off my now asleep legs and make my way slowly along the book shelves. As I turn the corner I meet a set of identical grey eyes staring back at me. The owner of these eyes is dressed in the type of cloths you see business men wearing along Michigan Ave, his hair looks unruly and tame all at the same time. The man seems to be my father's age and as I take him in a memory slowly comes into my mind.