Sequel: A Cry or a Scream ›
A Word or A Letter
Acquaintances
3 am. Monday morning. The only reason to keep a bookstore open this late is so the nocturnal category of humans may purchase books at a reasonable hour in nocturnal human time.
Mr. Jackson got over whatever he was mad at me about fairly quickly. He claimed the manager had told him all about it. Whether it was all about the wonderful things the bookstore offers that lightened his mood, or the fact he can stare at females for as long as he likes, I am not sure. It is surely the former. Who does not enjoy free book markers?
One of the two overhead lights flickered. Again. I waited. It stopped.
“Hello John,” Mr. Jackson addressed me, jumping over the counter to stand beside me.
“Good morning,” I replied simply.
“See that cute girl over there?” questioned he who stands beside me. Of course I saw her. She was the only other person in the entire building. I nodded in reply, even though I did not glance up from my scribbles.
He blabbered on and on about how cute she was, but was interrupted by footsteps approaching the register.
“Jack, I was not aware you work here,” stated the girl in surprise. Jackson stood tall and puffed out his chest, as if to show he was worthy of her attention. “Who’s your friend?”
“John. This is John,” he nudged me, as if to say, Let her know I’m likeable by having friends. Out of reflex, I looked up. “John, this is Cynthia. We used to go to school together.”
She seemed average. Straight brown hair with an early nineties style. Brown eyes with not a lot of depth. Jeans and a white t-shirt.
“Pleasure to meet you Ms.”
“Formal words and formal apparel. This is the second decade of the twenty first century, John. Is that how you were raised?”
“I find you can avoid unnecessary problems by being formal,” I responded, never lifting my head higher than for her to just see my eyes peeking out from under my hat brim. She nodded, not fully understanding, and turned towards Mr. Jackson. They conversed about old times, and eventually about meeting again.
“John, do you want to come with us? I have a friend who is kind of interested in you. We could double date. Ice cream shop, Saturday at noon?” Ms. Cynthia asked.
“How could she be interested in me if we have never met?”
“She comes here often-“
“John has problems with recognizing people,” Mr. Jackson very rudely interrupted.
“Then you can meet her on Saturday, right?” Ms. Cynthia continued.
“I suppose,” I accepted hesitantly. If her friend was anything like her, I don’t think I will enjoy my time on Saturday.
Mr. Jackson got over whatever he was mad at me about fairly quickly. He claimed the manager had told him all about it. Whether it was all about the wonderful things the bookstore offers that lightened his mood, or the fact he can stare at females for as long as he likes, I am not sure. It is surely the former. Who does not enjoy free book markers?
One of the two overhead lights flickered. Again. I waited. It stopped.
“Hello John,” Mr. Jackson addressed me, jumping over the counter to stand beside me.
“Good morning,” I replied simply.
“See that cute girl over there?” questioned he who stands beside me. Of course I saw her. She was the only other person in the entire building. I nodded in reply, even though I did not glance up from my scribbles.
He blabbered on and on about how cute she was, but was interrupted by footsteps approaching the register.
“Jack, I was not aware you work here,” stated the girl in surprise. Jackson stood tall and puffed out his chest, as if to show he was worthy of her attention. “Who’s your friend?”
“John. This is John,” he nudged me, as if to say, Let her know I’m likeable by having friends. Out of reflex, I looked up. “John, this is Cynthia. We used to go to school together.”
She seemed average. Straight brown hair with an early nineties style. Brown eyes with not a lot of depth. Jeans and a white t-shirt.
“Pleasure to meet you Ms.”
“Formal words and formal apparel. This is the second decade of the twenty first century, John. Is that how you were raised?”
“I find you can avoid unnecessary problems by being formal,” I responded, never lifting my head higher than for her to just see my eyes peeking out from under my hat brim. She nodded, not fully understanding, and turned towards Mr. Jackson. They conversed about old times, and eventually about meeting again.
“John, do you want to come with us? I have a friend who is kind of interested in you. We could double date. Ice cream shop, Saturday at noon?” Ms. Cynthia asked.
“How could she be interested in me if we have never met?”
“She comes here often-“
“John has problems with recognizing people,” Mr. Jackson very rudely interrupted.
“Then you can meet her on Saturday, right?” Ms. Cynthia continued.
“I suppose,” I accepted hesitantly. If her friend was anything like her, I don’t think I will enjoy my time on Saturday.