Silver Isn't a Real Color

Time always seems to have its way with us. It never waits and it doesn’t stop to let you pick of the pieces. A young man sat behind a dingy counter with chipping green paint. His feet were up and his brow was bunched as he intensely read a novel by his favorite author. The only sounds besides his breathing were the turning of pages and ticking of the wall clock. This was his routine. Sit behind a counter all day waiting for that customer to come and either buy a book and leave in a matter of minutes or waste his time with endless questions on advice for a “good read”. He never had to worry about a new book coming out and a rush of people coming to get it because most would rather go to a large bookstore. They’d rather wait in line for hours than go to the corner store and be in and out. This had always confused him. Maybe it was the anticipation of waiting to get the book that made it that much better. Nevertheless, he hadn’t ever been one to complain much. Plus, he liked the peace and quiet. He could read for hours and get paid for it. Some would call this job a bore, he called it his quiet time. Everybody needs a bit of quiet time.

The little bell on the door rang as someone opened it. He quickly took his feet off of the counter and acted as if he was doing something productive. There was a cart with new books on it that needed to be put in their proper places which he took down the isles and began organizing. He heard clicking heels around him but didn’t want to seem like he was following so he avoided them. There was a sudden tap on his shoulder which caused him to jump and drop the few books he was holding. In an attempt to evade eye contact in this embarrassing moment, he swiftly began to pick up the dropped books. Another pair of hands started helping him. They accidentally brushed his ever so slightly but in turn caused an awkward moment between the two strangers who had yet to even see each other’s face. Slowly but surely, the two brought their faces up to reveal their identities. When they saw each other they both couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” the beautiful, deep auburn-headed girl giggled.

“I— I wasn’t scared. I was just, just caught off guard.” He smiled too, feeling relief that the woman wasn’t a hard bitch of sorts. They shared a laugh and he said again, “Seriously though. I wasn’t afraid.”

The stranger chuckled again and stood. She was dressed well and he could tell that she had money. Her tank top was from Abercrombie and Fitch; it was light blue and tight to show off her well-endowed chest, her ripped, jean shirt sported the same logo, and her long legs led to black heels with the Gucci sign on the side. “Well, I was going to ask you a question.”

He stood and brushed off his thrift store pants. “And what would that be?”

“I need to buy this book. And there’s no one behind the counter.”

His face blushed slightly and he spoke quietly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Without another word, he headed behind the check out desk. “Hmm. Les Misérables. By Victor Hugo. Into the romance novels, huh?”

“I guess you could say that.” She smiled and asked, “What kind of books are you into?”

“I like a good mystery or horror novel. But a romance every now and then is refreshing.” He rung her up and stated, “That’ll be nine dollars and fifty-one cents.”

She took out the crumpled up bills and random change in her giant Coach purse and sorted it into corresponding piles. After a few moments of counting it she replied with big, grey eyes, “I’ve only got six dollars and twenty-seven cents.”

He grinned because he knew that if she could afford those clothes and that purse and which definitely didn’t appear to be fake, she could afford this book. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Her eyes got wider and she shot, “No! I didn’t, I swear. I must’ve dropped some money on the way here. I’m sorry. I’ll just leave. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“No, no, no! Don’t leave! It’s okay!” He grabbed her wrist just as she was turning to leave. “It’s on me.”

She bunched her brow. “Really?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“What’s the catch?” she inquired after eyeing him up and down.

Still holding on to her wrist, he spoke ever so softly, “Tell me your name.”

A smile spread smoothly across her face. “Victoria.”

“Victoria.” He spoke it slowly as if to savor it. “Do you have a nickname or something?”

“I do, but I like the way you say my name.”

He let go of her and chuckled as he pulled out his card and completed the transaction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her fingering the pages lightly. He could tell that she loved that book and he was happy that he’d done a good thing.

After a slight awkward pause he said, “Have you read it yet?”

“Yes, actually. A few times.”

“What’s your favorite part?”

“Book Four: Aid From Below Or From Above. Chapter Four: A Heart Beneath A Stone.” She inhaled deeply and recited without looking in the book, “What a great thing, to be loved! What a greater thing still, to love! The heart becomes heroic through passion. It is no longer composed of anything but what is pure; it no longer rests on anything but what is elevated and great. An unworthy thought can no more spring up in it than nettle on a glacier. The lofty and serene soul, inaccessible to common passions and common emotions, rising above that clouds and shadows of this world, its follies, its falsehoods, its hatreds, its vanities, its miseries, inhabits the blue of the skies, and no longer feels anything but the deep subterranean commotions of destiny, as the summit of the mountains feels the quaking of the earth.”

Again, she breathed in deeply to finish the end of the chapter but he stated abruptly, “If no one loved, the sun would go out.”

Her face turned a perfect shade of pink and she attempted to hold back a grin. “What’s your name anyway?” she asked in a flirtatious tone.

He scoffed. “None of your business.”

“Excuse me!” she shouted with a smirk on her face.

“Now if you’d excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

He walked away and again took a stab at acting like he was working. “Yeah right. You’re not fooling me. You weren’t doing anything when I came in here except reading that terrible book.”

“The Shining is not a terrible book!” he gasped.

“Oh please. Steven King is overrated and so are his unrealistic plots and overly exaggerated description.”

He grabbed his chest as if he were having a heart attack. “How dare you insult the King of Horror?”

She folded her arms. “Tell me your name and I’ll stop.”

“Ugh!” He stomped his feet like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. “My parents were hippies, okay? It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“Promise you won’t laugh.” He bent his brow.

“I promise.”

After a silence and heavy sigh he stated, “River.” She smiled and he shot, “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing! I’m smiling because I think it’s adorable.”

“Adorable? Try having an ‘adorable’ name all throughout high school. No one takes you seriously.”

She giggled a bit causing him to frown. “Aww. I’m sorry.” She rubbed his arm. “Your name is very fitting though.”

“And why is that?” he asked.

“This may sound weird but you kind of remind me of a river.”

“How?”

“Your hair is brown and long and curly and your eyes are green. River-ish.”

“No has ever told me that before,” he said behind an incoming laughter.

They shared a laugh before Victoria finally said, “Well, I ought to get going.”

River’s face sank into the ground. “Okay,” he replied with a sad smile. How this stranger had grown onto him? She turned to leave and he called to her in almost a question, “Come see me again sometime?”

She smiled and called over her shoulder, “Definitely.”