AN: Happy thanksgiving everyone! So now that Spencer and Jenna are more comfortable with each other, we're going to see some bonding. Sorry if this chapter is uneventful, I needed a break inbetween the action. Anyway, enjoy!
Chapter 11
I woke up early the next morning, even earlier than Spencer. I had spent enough time cooped up in my small bedroom, and frankly I missed watching television. I brewed a cup of coffee and plopped down on the suede couch in front of the tv. After flipping through the channels for a solid five minutes, I settled on the movie Matilda. I had been watching the film for around an hour when Spencer eventually emerged from his bedroom and into the living room.
"Hey, I left the coffee pot on for you." He must not have seen me because once I spoke he jumped three feet in the air.
"Jenna! W-why are you up so early?" He didn't mean it in a mean way, but a startled one.
"Early riser I guess" I giggled. Spencer shook his confusion and went on into the kitchen. He returned with a cup of coffee, no surprise there, and sat down on the other side of the couch.
"What is this?"
"Matilda."
"Matilda?" I was stunned at his lack of familiarity with the movie. "You've never seen Matilda?" Spencer shook his head. "Well, it's about a little girl whose family ignores her and bullies her when they get the chance. When she starts school, her teacher, discovers she is highly intelligent for her age. The principle of the school acts like a dictator and a deep hatred for children, making it difficult for Matilda to get the proper attention she needs to feed her intellect. As her brain develops, she realizes she has the ability to move objects with her mind. Basically, the movie is about all of that and events that follow" Spencer just stared at me blankly.
"That doesn't make any sense. The human mind cannot move objects based on sheer will, it's just impossible. And why didn't anyone call Child Protective Services on the parents, let alone the principle?" Spencer was utterly lost. "It's a movie, Spenc, fiction" I snickered. He shook it off and in time retreated down the hall into the bathroom.
I continued watching the rest of the movie, and then moved on to the television show Friends. Two and a half episodes later, Spencer came rushing out of his bedroom.
"I'm going to work, no sneaking out, don't make a mess and no boys!" He said, practically sprinting towards the door.
"Spencer, I don't know any girls let alone boys!" I shouted from across the apartment.
"Goodbye!" And out the door he went. I spent the remainder of day watching television, reading, and parading around the apartment in my pajamas. By four thirty, I ran out of shows to watch and books to read. I hadn't had the pleasure of getting to know the area of shops below me, so I figured that would be a delightful mission to accomplish.
I jumped into the shower, and was out ten minutes later. I threw on a fitted long sleeved black and white striped shirt and tucked it into a pair of dark wash jeans, with the addition of a plain black scarf. I decided on a matching pair of black flats, and pulled my hair into a loose pony tail. I quickly checked myself in the mirror, grabbed my light brown leather satchel, and headed out the door.
I came across multiple coffee shops, small boutiques, the studio, and miraculously, a book store. When I stepped into the quaint little shop, an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia rushed over me. It was crowded, filled top to bottom with antique everything. A thin layer of dust rested upon the various shelves and older books. An elderly man sat at the front register, flashing me a warm smile. He reminded me much of Ollivander from Harry Potter, looks wise at least.
I walked up and down the narrow aisles of bookcases, carefully examining the spine of each book. Within the shelves held the works of John Keats, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allen Poe, and Langston Hughes. I was certain Spencer owned the collections of every famous writer in the past two hundred years, but it doesn't feel right when I read a book that doesn't belong to me. When a person reads, I mean really reads; they pour their soul into the pages and bury their mind in the words. It stays with them, and taking that away seems cruel.
I proceeded to the elderly man up front with four thick hard covers. Expecting them to cost a large sum of money, I was prepared to bleed my wallet dry.
"Take them. No charge." The white haired man smiled.
"What? No I could never-" I blurted out while fishing through my wallet.
"They've been sitting on that shelf for years, you can't put a price on read that good. Take care of them"
"Thank you" I grinned. The old man nodded and I exited the shop with a smile. I walked around the square back to the apartment, beaming the entire way. I settled in my room with a steaming cup of coffee and cracked open The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe.