2. Reading is FundaMENTAL ("There was an old woman who lived in the street...")
William always looked forward to Wednesday nights. That was the night that he stopped at the grocery store on the way home and got a fresh hoagie sandwich and a large bottle of soda for dinner. Sometimes he would splurge and get a bag of chips or pretzels to go with it. Not tonight, though. On one of the info sites he visited frequently, they told of a release date for a couple of Kim Possible episodes that had been written into paperbacks. That release date was this Wednesday night. William had called the bookstore near his house during his lunch hour, and, after confirming that the books were in, had the clerk hold copies of each behind the desk until he could stop by after work.
William walked three blocks past his apartment building to the downtown market square - a collection of stores occupying the first couple of floors of older office buildings in the downtown area - catering to a mix of patrons, from other professionals in the blocks to the east, where William worked, to the "tragically hip" - young "rebels" and other voluntary outcasts whose presence made parts of the market square take on the atmosphere of a '60's coffee house. Anywhere else, this clash of social elements would never coexist peacefully. But here, for some reason, the mesh was smooth - even if little more than "social courtesy." Nobody really interacted with anybody who wasn't in their "crowd." Nobody really bothered anybody. And most of the time, William liked it that way. No trying to "fit in." No searching for witty small talk. No quick-thinking quips. No awkward encounters with someone you might know, and trying to explain why you were buying books about a cartoon character.
William arrived on the block where the bookstore was as the last light of the day was slipping away. Tiny snowflakes began to flit about, loyal to the weatherman's forcast of evening flurries. They danced under the streetlights as they moved in a gentle breeze, which seemed to announce the arrival of December. Fireflies of the Winter, thought William as he brushed away a flake which had stuck to one of the lenses of his glasses.
William reached the bookstore, "Bound Dreams," in the middle of the block, and walked up the two steps to the door. The stoop had wooden railings, and almost looked like what one would find attached to the back door of a house. He pushed open the glass-and-wood-framed door, and a trio of small bells above jingled in three-part harmony.
The store could be considered "cozy," compared with the typical large chain outlet one might find in a modern mall. The floor was bare hardwood. Your every footstep echoed through the entire store. Above, the ceiling was exposed. Pipes and ducting wound through large rafters, and above that, the boards for the second floor could be seen. Every wall was shelves, filled with books, both new and used, in various condition. On the floor were a series of small bookcases and butcher-block tables that had been converted into "bargain bins." Toward the back of the store was the cash register, and several worn-but-comfortable chairs where one could read "in house."
William made his way past a couple of people poring over bargain books, and to the counter at the back of the store. He greeted the cashier. "Yes, you're holding a couple of books for William Hodge?"
The cashier looked under the counter, and pulled out the two books. He glanced at the titles - then at William - holding his gaze a half a second longer than he probably should have - then rang the sale. "That's $8.46, with tax." He then slipped them inside a sack with "Bound Dreams" on it, and a winged unicorn with golden ropes around its neck and each of its legs.
William, of course, ignored the look from the cashier. It was no concern of his what the cashier thought of him buying the books. He didn't even think of offering some lame excuse like, "They're for my niece." It was none of his business. The books didn't even have anything to do with this life anyway, William rationalized. They were for his "other" life. The one from inside the box. The one in which the cashier neither lived nor belonged - nor deserved access to.
William held out a $5, three ones and two quarters, which the cashier exchanged for the sack. William refused the four cents change, pointing to the "take one or leave one" penny bin. He then turned and walked toward the door, stopping before he went outside, and sliding the books out of the sack to get his first look at them.
The first, "Bueno Nacho," was a scene from the TV episode, with Kim holding up a burrito she had folded after becoming an employee of the Mexican restaurant. The other, "The New Ron," had a scene from that episode, with Ron showing off his new "Pleather" pants to Kim.
William smiled in satisfaction. Sure, he had both of these episodes on tape. But the books, to William, were like reading a letter from your girlfriend when she wasn't there. He slid the books back into the sack, and opened the door, taking both steps on the stoop at once.
*OOF*
William didn't see the woman approaching from the right. Both people fell to the ground. William's glasses were knocked off in the collision, and he rolled to one side, reaching for them before someone trampled them underfoot. He then sat upright, looking for the sack, which was knocked out of his hand. He turned and came face to face with the woman he had collided with.
She was a petite woman with smallish features, barely five feet if she was an inch. William was surprised that she could even knock him down. She looked to be in her early fifties, but judging from her clothes and general appearance, William guessed that she had been living on the streets for some time. She wore a blue stocking cap, under which peeked about three inches of bright, but stringy blonde hair. She also had an army surplus jacket, well-worn jeans, and tennis shoes that looked as if they had more days behind them than ahead.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry," the woman exclaimed. William thought she sounded a bit like Kirstie Alley, her voice in that perpetual "crack" that reminded one of a slight case of laryngitis. She stood and offered her hand to help him up. "Ya hurt? I'm so sorry...ya came down those stairs like ya were in a hurry. I didn't have time to get out of your way. Are your clothes torn anywhere? I'm very sorry." From the very moment their eyes met, her gaze never left his, even while talking a mile a minute.
William took a quick look over his clothes, and seeing no rips, reached for the woman's hand. Despite the nearly freezing temperatures, her touch was extremely warm. She grasped his hand firmly, put one shoe against his, and pulled him to his feet.
The moment their hands met, her eyes narrowed. William began to feel a slight uneasiness, which he attributed to the fall. The woman began to brush the dirt from his long coat with her other hand, while still clasping his hand.
"You just gotta be all right," she continued quickly. "That was all my fault, really, even though ya came out of the store so fast, I didn't see ya until it was too late. This is a nice coat ya got. I'm glad it's not tore anywhere."
William only half-heard the woman's apology. He was looking around for the sack of books he had just bought. Then the woman said something which brought his full attention to her.
"Isn't your name like...Will...or William? Yeah, William," she said. "I think I've seen ya come out of the Meridian Insurance Building a few blocks away. Quite a few times, in fact. You must work there or something." She then began to shake the hand she had such a close grip on. "Hiya William, I'm Angelica. Angelica Guardia. Are ya sure you're okay?"
"I'm...I'm fine really, uhh, Angelica," said William. "Ummm, how did you know-- say, you haven't seen a small sack with a couple of books in it..."
Angelica stopped brushing William's coat, and reached into her jacket, pulling out the sack. "They fell right into my lap after ya hit the deck. I put 'em in here to make sure nobody made off with 'em. Just can't tell about some of the people down here...y'know?"
"Thanks....Angelica," stammered William, still rather surprised that the woman not only knew his name, but where he worked - and he had never laid eyes on her before in his life. He had never seen her near his office building.
Angelica then peeked into the sack and her eyes widened. "Hey, Kim Possible. I've seen that one before. It's been on the TVs in the front window of the drug store down the block. Do ya like cartoons, William? Are ya a fan?"
William began to think less and less that the uneasiness he was feeling was from the fall. In fact, he now remembered it starting the moment his hand met Angelica's. It was sort of like the feeling one would get when cresting the first hill of a new roller coaster ride - the apprehension of the coming rush, zooming downward, but at the same time, feeling safe from being strapped in. He looked from the sack to Angelica, and managed to utter, "Yes." He then started to ask again, "Listen, I don't remember ever seeing you before. How did you know my name, or where I work...."
He was cut short by Angelica drawing close to him, and using his hand to pull him down closer to her, their noses nearly touching now. She said under her breath, "Ya ever seen or met a Celler, William?"
He was taken aback. "A...what...?"
"It's a good thing I ran into ya, William," Angelica cut in again. "Well, not run into ya. You know what I mean. Listen...when ya come back, bring a little something for me - say, $20?" She then reached into the breast pocket of her jacket, and pulled out a folded piece of paper which looked to be older than the two of them together. She opened William's right hand, which had been in what now seemed to be a much-too-long handshake, and placed the paper into it, curling his fingers around it and closing her hands over it tightly. "Ya come back with the $20, William - and I'll bet that your secret wish comes true."
William now studied Angelica's face. This was becoming weirder by the moment. He figured that this was her ploy for money - perhaps for food - more likely for booze. But something else was inside, fighting those thoughts. "What secret wish are you talking about? How do you know I'm coming back? What day should I come back...if I'm coming back...and what time?"
"Don't you worry, William," said Angelica. "Whatever day or time you make it, I'll be here. Right here at the bookstore, don't you worry." She then gave his hand a couple of pats, perhaps as reassurance for her strange claims. Angelica then released William's hand, and took a step back - her eyes still locked with his. Then she exclaimed, "Ohhhhh, William! I almost forgot! Something else you have to bring with you, with that $20, you know?" She stepped forward again, and brought him down by tugging on his hand, until their faces nearly touched. "...bring with that $20...the strong belief in your heart that," she looked around, then locked onto his eyes again. "...anything...anything is possible." Angelica then released William's hand and stepped back.
William looked from Angelica for the first time in what felt like a half hour, even though less than ten minutes had elapsed since their collision. He looked at his closed hand. It was still warm from her holding it. He slowly opened it and looked at the folded piece of paper. He opened it, and his breath caught. It looked like something that had been painted eons ago, but there it was. A rendition that looked to be hastily sketched, and filled in with old crayons...but it was undeniably a rendition of Kim Possible.
The mystery of the paper, on top of everything else, caused William to want to bring this whatever-it-was to an end. "Who are--" he raised his voice.
Nobody was standing anywhere near William. He scanned the street in both directions. No blue stocking cap to be found. The sky was completely dark now, the winter's night settling its cloak over the city. The Fireflies of Winter still dancing under the streetlights.
William just stood there, with no firm conclusions about what just happened. He noticed that his hand was now cold again, after the intense warmth of Angelica's touch. Then he noticed that his stomach was screaming at him. He looked at his watch. The grocery would close within the half hour, and he hadn't gotten his sandwich.
William took another look at the paper, still trying to make something of the strange encounter with Angelica. He then stuffed it into the sack with the books, rolled the top closed, then set off at a dead run for the grocery store.
To be continued...
William always looked forward to Wednesday nights. That was the night that he stopped at the grocery store on the way home and got a fresh hoagie sandwich and a large bottle of soda for dinner. Sometimes he would splurge and get a bag of chips or pretzels to go with it. Not tonight, though. On one of the info sites he visited frequently, they told of a release date for a couple of Kim Possible episodes that had been written into paperbacks. That release date was this Wednesday night. William had called the bookstore near his house during his lunch hour, and, after confirming that the books were in, had the clerk hold copies of each behind the desk until he could stop by after work.
William walked three blocks past his apartment building to the downtown market square - a collection of stores occupying the first couple of floors of older office buildings in the downtown area - catering to a mix of patrons, from other professionals in the blocks to the east, where William worked, to the "tragically hip" - young "rebels" and other voluntary outcasts whose presence made parts of the market square take on the atmosphere of a '60's coffee house. Anywhere else, this clash of social elements would never coexist peacefully. But here, for some reason, the mesh was smooth - even if little more than "social courtesy." Nobody really interacted with anybody who wasn't in their "crowd." Nobody really bothered anybody. And most of the time, William liked it that way. No trying to "fit in." No searching for witty small talk. No quick-thinking quips. No awkward encounters with someone you might know, and trying to explain why you were buying books about a cartoon character.
William arrived on the block where the bookstore was as the last light of the day was slipping away. Tiny snowflakes began to flit about, loyal to the weatherman's forcast of evening flurries. They danced under the streetlights as they moved in a gentle breeze, which seemed to announce the arrival of December. Fireflies of the Winter, thought William as he brushed away a flake which had stuck to one of the lenses of his glasses.
William reached the bookstore, "Bound Dreams," in the middle of the block, and walked up the two steps to the door. The stoop had wooden railings, and almost looked like what one would find attached to the back door of a house. He pushed open the glass-and-wood-framed door, and a trio of small bells above jingled in three-part harmony.
The store could be considered "cozy," compared with the typical large chain outlet one might find in a modern mall. The floor was bare hardwood. Your every footstep echoed through the entire store. Above, the ceiling was exposed. Pipes and ducting wound through large rafters, and above that, the boards for the second floor could be seen. Every wall was shelves, filled with books, both new and used, in various condition. On the floor were a series of small bookcases and butcher-block tables that had been converted into "bargain bins." Toward the back of the store was the cash register, and several worn-but-comfortable chairs where one could read "in house."
William made his way past a couple of people poring over bargain books, and to the counter at the back of the store. He greeted the cashier. "Yes, you're holding a couple of books for William Hodge?"
The cashier looked under the counter, and pulled out the two books. He glanced at the titles - then at William - holding his gaze a half a second longer than he probably should have - then rang the sale. "That's $8.46, with tax." He then slipped them inside a sack with "Bound Dreams" on it, and a winged unicorn with golden ropes around its neck and each of its legs.
William, of course, ignored the look from the cashier. It was no concern of his what the cashier thought of him buying the books. He didn't even think of offering some lame excuse like, "They're for my niece." It was none of his business. The books didn't even have anything to do with this life anyway, William rationalized. They were for his "other" life. The one from inside the box. The one in which the cashier neither lived nor belonged - nor deserved access to.
William held out a $5, three ones and two quarters, which the cashier exchanged for the sack. William refused the four cents change, pointing to the "take one or leave one" penny bin. He then turned and walked toward the door, stopping before he went outside, and sliding the books out of the sack to get his first look at them.
The first, "Bueno Nacho," was a scene from the TV episode, with Kim holding up a burrito she had folded after becoming an employee of the Mexican restaurant. The other, "The New Ron," had a scene from that episode, with Ron showing off his new "Pleather" pants to Kim.
William smiled in satisfaction. Sure, he had both of these episodes on tape. But the books, to William, were like reading a letter from your girlfriend when she wasn't there. He slid the books back into the sack, and opened the door, taking both steps on the stoop at once.
*OOF*
William didn't see the woman approaching from the right. Both people fell to the ground. William's glasses were knocked off in the collision, and he rolled to one side, reaching for them before someone trampled them underfoot. He then sat upright, looking for the sack, which was knocked out of his hand. He turned and came face to face with the woman he had collided with.
She was a petite woman with smallish features, barely five feet if she was an inch. William was surprised that she could even knock him down. She looked to be in her early fifties, but judging from her clothes and general appearance, William guessed that she had been living on the streets for some time. She wore a blue stocking cap, under which peeked about three inches of bright, but stringy blonde hair. She also had an army surplus jacket, well-worn jeans, and tennis shoes that looked as if they had more days behind them than ahead.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry," the woman exclaimed. William thought she sounded a bit like Kirstie Alley, her voice in that perpetual "crack" that reminded one of a slight case of laryngitis. She stood and offered her hand to help him up. "Ya hurt? I'm so sorry...ya came down those stairs like ya were in a hurry. I didn't have time to get out of your way. Are your clothes torn anywhere? I'm very sorry." From the very moment their eyes met, her gaze never left his, even while talking a mile a minute.
William took a quick look over his clothes, and seeing no rips, reached for the woman's hand. Despite the nearly freezing temperatures, her touch was extremely warm. She grasped his hand firmly, put one shoe against his, and pulled him to his feet.
The moment their hands met, her eyes narrowed. William began to feel a slight uneasiness, which he attributed to the fall. The woman began to brush the dirt from his long coat with her other hand, while still clasping his hand.
"You just gotta be all right," she continued quickly. "That was all my fault, really, even though ya came out of the store so fast, I didn't see ya until it was too late. This is a nice coat ya got. I'm glad it's not tore anywhere."
William only half-heard the woman's apology. He was looking around for the sack of books he had just bought. Then the woman said something which brought his full attention to her.
"Isn't your name like...Will...or William? Yeah, William," she said. "I think I've seen ya come out of the Meridian Insurance Building a few blocks away. Quite a few times, in fact. You must work there or something." She then began to shake the hand she had such a close grip on. "Hiya William, I'm Angelica. Angelica Guardia. Are ya sure you're okay?"
"I'm...I'm fine really, uhh, Angelica," said William. "Ummm, how did you know-- say, you haven't seen a small sack with a couple of books in it..."
Angelica stopped brushing William's coat, and reached into her jacket, pulling out the sack. "They fell right into my lap after ya hit the deck. I put 'em in here to make sure nobody made off with 'em. Just can't tell about some of the people down here...y'know?"
"Thanks....Angelica," stammered William, still rather surprised that the woman not only knew his name, but where he worked - and he had never laid eyes on her before in his life. He had never seen her near his office building.
Angelica then peeked into the sack and her eyes widened. "Hey, Kim Possible. I've seen that one before. It's been on the TVs in the front window of the drug store down the block. Do ya like cartoons, William? Are ya a fan?"
William began to think less and less that the uneasiness he was feeling was from the fall. In fact, he now remembered it starting the moment his hand met Angelica's. It was sort of like the feeling one would get when cresting the first hill of a new roller coaster ride - the apprehension of the coming rush, zooming downward, but at the same time, feeling safe from being strapped in. He looked from the sack to Angelica, and managed to utter, "Yes." He then started to ask again, "Listen, I don't remember ever seeing you before. How did you know my name, or where I work...."
He was cut short by Angelica drawing close to him, and using his hand to pull him down closer to her, their noses nearly touching now. She said under her breath, "Ya ever seen or met a Celler, William?"
He was taken aback. "A...what...?"
"It's a good thing I ran into ya, William," Angelica cut in again. "Well, not run into ya. You know what I mean. Listen...when ya come back, bring a little something for me - say, $20?" She then reached into the breast pocket of her jacket, and pulled out a folded piece of paper which looked to be older than the two of them together. She opened William's right hand, which had been in what now seemed to be a much-too-long handshake, and placed the paper into it, curling his fingers around it and closing her hands over it tightly. "Ya come back with the $20, William - and I'll bet that your secret wish comes true."
William now studied Angelica's face. This was becoming weirder by the moment. He figured that this was her ploy for money - perhaps for food - more likely for booze. But something else was inside, fighting those thoughts. "What secret wish are you talking about? How do you know I'm coming back? What day should I come back...if I'm coming back...and what time?"
"Don't you worry, William," said Angelica. "Whatever day or time you make it, I'll be here. Right here at the bookstore, don't you worry." She then gave his hand a couple of pats, perhaps as reassurance for her strange claims. Angelica then released William's hand, and took a step back - her eyes still locked with his. Then she exclaimed, "Ohhhhh, William! I almost forgot! Something else you have to bring with you, with that $20, you know?" She stepped forward again, and brought him down by tugging on his hand, until their faces nearly touched. "...bring with that $20...the strong belief in your heart that," she looked around, then locked onto his eyes again. "...anything...anything is possible." Angelica then released William's hand and stepped back.
William looked from Angelica for the first time in what felt like a half hour, even though less than ten minutes had elapsed since their collision. He looked at his closed hand. It was still warm from her holding it. He slowly opened it and looked at the folded piece of paper. He opened it, and his breath caught. It looked like something that had been painted eons ago, but there it was. A rendition that looked to be hastily sketched, and filled in with old crayons...but it was undeniably a rendition of Kim Possible.
The mystery of the paper, on top of everything else, caused William to want to bring this whatever-it-was to an end. "Who are--" he raised his voice.
Nobody was standing anywhere near William. He scanned the street in both directions. No blue stocking cap to be found. The sky was completely dark now, the winter's night settling its cloak over the city. The Fireflies of Winter still dancing under the streetlights.
William just stood there, with no firm conclusions about what just happened. He noticed that his hand was now cold again, after the intense warmth of Angelica's touch. Then he noticed that his stomach was screaming at him. He looked at his watch. The grocery would close within the half hour, and he hadn't gotten his sandwich.
William took another look at the paper, still trying to make something of the strange encounter with Angelica. He then stuffed it into the sack with the books, rolled the top closed, then set off at a dead run for the grocery store.
To be continued...