The Meeting

When I moved to this city for my new job, I naturally wanted to explore, but, unfortunately for me, my new boss had other plans. So, for the first three weeks, I wasn’t able to go out and get to know my new surroundings. When I finally got a break, wouldn’t you know, it rained, hard, for the entire day. But the next day, it seemed that fate was on my side. The day dawned clear, but a dreary gray. That wasn’t going to stop me though. I dress simply and head out. When I open the door, I catch a whiff of rain still lingering in the heavy air, so I reach up into the closet next to the front door and grab my jacket and slip it on, pulling the hood over my head.

The ground is still damp but I walk along happily, glad to be somewhere different, doing something without having to explain myself; absolutely giddy with the heady sense of freedom. Right now, I think, the bottom could fall out of the sky and I’d probably skip and dance along the sidewalk like Gene Kelly in Singin’ In The Rain. There are puddles here and there that I leap over, sometimes clearing them, sometimes the heel of my shoe splashes in. When I step onto a patch of grass, I can hear the slight squish of mud underneath.

I spot the bookstore I want to check out up ahead. It’s one of those small mom and pop ones, you know the type, not a big chain like Barnes & Noble, but a quaint place. One of the few left it seems. I make my way across the street towards the store. It’s one of the places I'd been wanting to check out since I moved here. I walk in and I hear the soft tinkling of a bell and then I’m hit with the smell of books. You know that smell, the smell of pages and ink and the covers and dust, but also - what I think - the smell of millions upon millions of words. Pages full of words containing so much knowledge all needing to be absorbed by willing and eager minds. Some people would say that it’s just the stink of old books, but maybe I tend to romanticize things. To each their own, I guess.

I make sure to wipe my feet on the mat before stepping onto the hardwood floor. I don’t fancy slipping up and having to cut my free day short. The weather has kept most people inside their homes, but there are a few people in the store. From my spot inside the door I spy a little café tucked into the corner on my right. I sniff and smell the strong scent of coffee brewing and some sweet pastry hot from the oven. I make a mental note to pick up something before I leave. Whenever that’ll be.

I make my way to the various tables stacked with books that are near the entrance, squinting at the titles and different signs set up describing the various genres of books on each. I stop at the table with a sign denoting that the books on it are full of poetry. I pick up a few volumes and flip through them. I think to myself that as much as I love poetry and how I used to write it (albeit badly) so much when I was younger, I definitely should read more. I put down the book that I have in my hand. There’s plenty of time to make a decision, I think. I need to see what else they have.

As I wander deeper into the shop, I nod and smile at the two or three people I pass. I make my way towards the shelves they have further back. I stop when I reach the history section, tracing my fingers along the book spines trying to decide which books to pick up. History has quickly become my favorite genre. It still amazes me how quickly I became interested in history after reading one book about Anne Boleyn and King Henry VIII. Now I feel like I know so much about the Tudor Era and Victorian Era, I’m sure I could easily get a degree in it. I smile at that thought. I don’t know if I’d really go back to school for that but, hey, it’s always a possibility.

I pick up a book about the Regency Era, my newest historical obsession, and flip it over, reading first the blurb on the back then opening it and reading the first few pages. After a bit, I tuck it under my arm. I’m going to buy it, I decide. I look through a few more shelves picking up and glancing at a few other books. I opt for another one about the Wars of the Roses. I pick up another, flip through it and decide against it. I do this a few more times before I head over to the mystery section. I immediately head for the Agatha Christie books; I’ve been hooked on her books since I read And then There Were None. I pick up two I haven’t read yet and add them to the others I have. She always manages to surprise me.

With four books in my hands I walk through the shelves again. Not seeing anything else I want, I make my way back up towards the front where the tables of books are. I head to the table where the poetry books are and I spot someone there thumbing through them. I don’t really pay attention to them at first, focusing on trying to find one I’d like to buy.

I pick up one: a volume of love poems by various writers. Now, normally I don’t really do love poems, but for some reason, today I feel differently; I can’t quite say why. I know as soon as I open it that it’s a strong contender for purchase because when I scan the table of contents I see the titles of some of my favorite Shakespearean sonnets: “Shall I compare thee…” “My mistress eyes…” “Not marble nor the gilded monuments…” Those have been some of my favorites since I first read them in college. I set the book down to look at some others.

The other person that’s at the table with me, looks up from his book at me as I reach for another book that’s close to him. Our eyes meet and I give him a small smile in greeting; he smiles back and gives me a small nod. Something about his smile, his eyes, captivate me, and I don’t want to leave the table just yet. I open the book I have in my hands and pretend to read through it but really I’m stealing glances at this stranger. I don’t know what it is but when he smiled at me I felt something.

He has a sweet face. Clean shaven, which surprises me because I’m usually attracted to beards, but I find this face angelic without one. Huh, that’s strange, I think. Anyway his face: it's angular, great cheekbones, a strong jaw, and from this angle I can see he has a bit of a big nose, but I don’t mean that in a bad way, it suits his face perfectly; it’s cute. Suddenly I’m glad he’s clean shaven, I would have missed most of this had he had a beard.

He looks up from the book in his hands, and I drop my eyes down to mine and flip the page, as if I’m actually focused on the words on the page and not this man in front of me. I feel a small wave of embarrassment wash over me, because I’m more than sure that if he didn’t know, he definitely sensed that I had been looking at him. He puts the book he’d been flipping through down, and looks over the others on the table. I do the same, shifting slightly so that I can take another peek at him. He seems to be so focused on the books that I’m almost sure that he won’t notice me looking again.

I pick up another book, and resume my study of him. Now where was I? Oh yes, his nose. It really does suit his face. And his lips, hmm, he has a rather thin top lip, but his bottom one is full. Okay, that’s enough, I tell myself. I close my book. I need to leave before I start imagining what it would be like to kiss this complete stranger. Not that I haven’t done that before, but still… I put the book down and I go to reach for the first one I’d had.

As soon as I go to reach for it, he does too, and we bump hands.

“Sorry,” we both say. He has a nice voice.

“Go ahead,” I say to him.

“No, you reached for it first.”

I look up at him. He’s dressed as simply as I am: In jeans and a t-shirt. He has nice arms and broad shoulders. I like that. Then I look into his eyes. They’re a deep sweet brown. As I look into them, I get the feeling that he’s full of kindness. It’s always in the eyes. I can’t help but smile again. What is this? He smiles back at me, but this time something in his eyes lights up, like he’s seeing something that fills him with happiness.

“Are you gonna…?” he says, gesturing to the book my hand is poised over.

“Huh? Oh, oh yeah,” I pick up the book, mentally shaking myself. I had gotten so caught up in the way he smiled, lifting one side of his mouth slightly higher than the other, that I'd forgotten what I was doing.

I go to add the book to the stack that I already have.

“So, what made you choose that book?” I hear him ask.

“Huh?” Wow, I really sound articulate here.

“I mean, judging from the others you have… I was just wondering,” he says. “It doesn’t seem like something you meant to buy today.”

I look down at the books in my hands: two on history and two mystery books. He’s right, a book of love poetry does seem out of place.

I shrug. “Well, to be completely honest, it has some of my favorite poems in it.”

And without really thinking I open the book, and point to one of the sonnets by Shakespeare. He moves over to where I’m standing to peer down at the poem I’m showing him and he begins to read:

“Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;

But you shall shine more bright in these contents

Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time.

When wasteful war shall statues overturn,

And broils root out the work of masonry.

Nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn

The living record of your memory…”

He moves closer to me, taking half the book in his hands and he keeps reading. I am completely mesmerized by his voice and the expression he puts behind every word. I’ve given up any and all pretense, I’m full on staring at him, well, the side of his face. The way his dark hair curls around his ears. God, even his ears are cute. Watching his lips form around every word; the book in my hand all but forgotten…

“‘Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity

Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room

Even in the eyes of all posterity

That wear this world out the ending doom.

So, till the Judgement that yourself arise,

You live in this, and dwell in lover’s eyes.”

When he finishes reading he looks at me. “Yeah, that’s a good one.”

I have to shake myself out of my trance. I am completely under whatever spell he cast and I clear my throat. “Ahem, yeah, it’s umm, it’s been one of my favorites since I first read it in college.”

“Hmmm,” he hums and looks over the table. Not spotting another copy of the book, he goes to turn the pages of the one we’re still both holding. “May I?”

“Yeah,” I say, letting go of the book so he can flip through some pages until he lands on one.

“This one is good,” he tells me, pointing to the page like I had done earlier.

I look at the page and I see a poem by Pablo Neruda. This time, it seems, it is my turn to read out loud…

“I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,

Or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:

I love you as one loves certain obscure things,

Secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries

The light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,

And thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose

From the earth lives dimly in my body…”

The whole time I’m reading, I feel his eyes on me, like mine had been on him, drinking me in.

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where

I love you directly without problems or pride:

I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,

Except in this form in which I am not nor are you,

So close that your hand upon my chest is mine,

So close that your eyes close with my dreams.”

When I finish, I look up at him and smile. “Okay, now, that was beautiful,” I say softly.

“Right?”

I start flipping through the book again because I remember seeing another favorite poem of mine listed in the table of contents.

“Aha,” I say when I spot it. And I show it to him.

“Harlem Night Song by Langston Hughes? Hmm…

Come,

Let us roam the night together

Singing.

I love you.

Across

The Harlem roof-tops

Moon is shining,

Night sky is blue.

Stars are great drops

Of golden dew.

Down the street

A band is playing.

I love you.

Come,

Let us roam the night together

Singing.”

“It’s so simple,” he says.

“But so beautiful, can’t you just see and hear what he was describing? With so few words?”

He nods. “Yeah, I can.”

He takes the book from me and flips through to find another poem. And back and forth we spend the next several minutes doing this. Flipping through the book, showing each other different poems and reading them to each other. Side by side we stand, both holding the book in our hands, our arms brushing against each other, sometimes our hands when we pass the book, fingers grazing one another, and from time to time, when we move close to both look at a page, our sides bump against each other.

It’s almost like heaven to me.

Unfortunately our little interlude is interrupted by a buzzing sound. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He answers it.

“Yeah, I’m still in the bookstore… where are you… okay.” He looks at me. “I’ll be out in a minute… yeah, see you.”

I pull out my own phone and look at the time. Dang, I’ve been here for nearly three hours. I go to pick up my books.

“Um, are you gonna buy that book?”

“Yeah,” I say and I see him frown slightly, I could tell he wanted it. “But since I only see one copy, you go ahead and take it. I can order it from amazon or something.”

“No, no you had it first.”

“No seriously, it's okay,” I say, pushing the book into his hands. “I have enough here.”

“Well, I did have fun reading it with you.” The way he stresses “you” has me feeling all warm.

“Yeah, I had fun too.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but his phone buzzes again. He looks down at it, reading a message he got. “Okay, I umm I have to go, my friend is out there.”

“Yeah, yeah okay.”

He takes a few steps backwards, still looking at me, before turning and heading to the register. I watch him for a bit before I decide to head over to the café, and order a coffee. While I'm waiting on my order I think to myself, Damn, I didn’t ask for his name! Stupid stupid STUPID!

I sigh and grab my cup and head to the register to check out. When I get to the cashier she rings me up. Then she gives me a sly smile.

“There’s another book in your bag.”

“I’m sorry?”

“That young man that was in here, he bought the book, but he said to give it to you.”

I peek in the bag and sure enough the book of love poems is sitting in there with the other books I purchased. I look up at her and smile.

“Oh he also told me to tell you to look at the bookmark.”

“Okay,” I say, digging into the bag and pulling out the book. Sliding the bookmark from between the pages I see he left a message on the blank side.

I just realized that I didn’t even ask you for your name, to be fair you didn’t ask me for mine either, but I figured I’d get it when you called me to give me my book back. Besides, we still need to finish reading it together.

At the bottom is his name and number. I smile down at the bookmark. Then I look up at the cashier who’s smiling at me.

“Thank you,” I say to her before I leave the store.

I walk outside to a still overcast day, but everything seems to be bathed in a bright light. I situate my bag of books in my hand and dig my phone out of my purse, as I dial his number, I feel a sense that my life is about to change for the better.