Life in Technicolor

“I don’t understand why you read these kinds of books,” Andrew said with a laugh as he stood in front of Valerie’s ceiling high bookshelf.

He was laughing because he could see a definite pattern in Valerie’s reading; all the books had colourful spines and titles such as ‘The Single Woman’s Knitting Club’ and ‘Island Girls (and Boys)’. Valerie was unashamed to admit that most of her literature consisted of paperback specifically aimed at the single females of the world that spoke about heartache and in the end winning over the person that they wanted to be with so badly. Of course there were several classic literature books and heavy books written by acclaimed authors, but nothing made her happier than lying in bed with Pepito and a good romance novel.

Andrew had often tried to make her sway from her choice of reading, the larger part of the more serious books were presents from him. He couldn’t understand how she could read books that were predictable and where more effort was put into the front cover than the actual words.

He carried on looking at the spines of the books in the hope that something would appeal to him. It was another one of those weeks where Andrew had spent more time sleeping on the pull out sofa in the living room than in his own bed. It would frequently occur that he wouldn’t go home and instead just live with Valerie. A lot of the time this was comforting to her, but sometimes it was a painful reminder of what was not meant to be. Occasionally she let herself imagine that they were in fact living together because that’s what couples do, but then she would harshly remind herself that this what not the reality of the world.

Valerie looked up from the bagel that she was currently spreading butter over, and glanced at Andrew. He had evidently found something that attracted his interest as he finally held a book in his hands. It was a relatively thin paperback and once he felt Valerie’s eyes on him he looked up at her with a grin and showed her the book.

“Alice In Wonderland?” He asked as he lifted it up for her to see better. “Really Val? I swear you either have children’s books or horribly predictable romance novels. You need a bookshelf overhaul.”

She looked at him challengingly before biting into her bagel viciously.

“I take you up on that challenge.” She said with a mouthful of crumbs.

“It is so on,” Andrew said with a grin.

Two hours later Valerie found herself in a musty smelling bookshop that was just a stones thrown from the pier in Santa Monica. She had Pepito in her arms and he was wriggling around uneasily, disliking the old book smell that reached his tender puppy nose. Both Valerie and her puppy had the same exasperated expression on their faces as they curiously watched Andrew pick his way through box after box that was filled with yellowing books.

“You need some more classics, Austen, Bronte, Defoe and so on,” he muttered half to himself as the pile of books in his tanned hands increased rapidly.

Half of the names that Andrew was reeling off meant nothing to her. She could easily list you a fabric for every letter of the alphabet but when it came to books and authors she was lost.

Whilst Andrew rifled through the classic book boxes like a man possessed, Valerie turned around and drifted towards the children’s section. She had always loved picture books and their simplistic attitude towards morals and hidden messages.

She gazed intently at the thin spines of the books whilst petting Pepito gently as he lay in her arms, grumbling at the lack of attention he was receiving from Andrew. All the book titles seemed to pass by Valerie but then one little book caught her eye.

“You haven’t read that yet?” came the inquisitive voice from Andrew as he suddenly appear beside her, books piled up in his arms almost obscuring his face.

The book she had picked up was a little thin book that looked like it had been a favourite. The pages were yellowing and the spine cracked as Valerie turned the pages that were filled with little ink drawings.

“The Little Prince,” Valerie read aloud as she took in the front cover.

“A classic in it’s own right, I’ll let you get this children’s book but it’s the only exception okay?” Andrew said with a laugh as he gently took the book from her and added it to the pile in his straining arms.

Valerie often wished that she could be more like Andrew. It was a thought that occupied her head frequently and especially at times when he did something that was so like him. She wished she could share his passion for classic literature but she wasn’t just that girl. Sometimes she wished that she could share his ambitions for bigger dreams, but then she liked her simple life living by the boardwalk and working in a bridal shop. She had never felt the need to explore the big country and she had no desire to move around. She was content with her small dreams, but often felt wrong for having these because the person that had the most influence in her life had such large dreams she often felt overwhelmed.

“What are you going to do once the record comes out?”

The question had broken the silence that had taken up residence around them as they settled on the beach with the newly acquired books. Andrew had been flicking through each of them deciding on which one Valerie should read first, whilst she watched Pepito trot around the waters edge and run away from the waves which frightened him.

Andrew looked up from the battered copy of King Lear and looked at Valerie with shining eyes.

“I told you didn’t I? I’ve got an April tour that’s just before the record and once the record does come out I just want to be on the road and put my music out there.”

She had always admired that strength in him. His conviction that what he was doing was the right thing. He was always going to go his own way no matter what happened. Sometimes she wondered whether Andrew resented her for not having dreams on a large scale.

Little did Valerie know that Andrew was glad of her small town dreams. It meant that she was always going to be around; she was his constant in a world that revolved around freeways and tour schedules. Sometimes he wished that he could have dreams that conformed to the easy life, but that wasn’t how he wanted to live. From an early age he had known that and especially after the death of his beloved uncle who seemed to live through Andrew and his music.

“You know that this place is never the same without you?”

The words had rushed out of her mouth before she could even contemplate what she was going to say.

Andrew looked back up at her from the yellow pages of the play and graced her with an earth-shattering smile.

“I know,” he said. “None of the cities ever feel like home without you there.”