that’s important, and I’m not going to take another soul down with me. I don’t enjoy pain, and I don’t enjoy the pain of others, even animals. I won’t be the cause of someone else’s suffering.”
After a moment, she unbuckled her seat belt and ran her hands through her hair. “And if you’re so okay with contracting a fatal condition or disease, why don’t you drive? Didn’t you say it was because you could die?”
I looked down at my lap. She was right.
“Look,” she said, touching my forearm. I raised my gaze to her. “I don’t care if you eat meat, okay? Who I am and what I do has no bearing on who you are and what you do. When I talk about how I feel about animal welfare, it’s not a judgment on you because you eat meat. I don’t usual y talk about this stuff with people because they get weird and defensive, as if me being vegan is some kind of social statement about them. And it’s not.”
“Okay.” It real y was al I could say.
“We cool?” she asked.
I popped my seat belt. “We’re cool.” Nodding to the brick building in front of us, I asked, “Want to go in?” I’d never been in a situation where I’d spoken so intensely about what was obviously a personal subject before. I didn’t quite understand why it had gotten so tense, but as we got out of the car and walked into the bookstore, everything seemed fine again.
Part of why I loved M.T. Shelves so much was because of the smel . It hit me as soon as I opened the glass door. I let Olivia go in first, but as I stepped over the threshold, I could almost feel the books. Barnes & Noble wasn’t like this. It didn’t smel or feel like anything, real y, except maybe lattes and mochas. This bookstore, however, had that dusty, old aroma. I knew if I took too deep of a breath through my nose, I’d probably start sneezing.
Straight in front of us were stacks and stacks of books. American History books were a few feet away. To the left was military history and to the right was the counter where the register sat. Instead of a person, an orange furbal stared us down. That was the bookstore’s cat. Every time I’d been in here, the cat would fol ow me around, as if making sure I behaved in his home. But when I’d try to pet him he’d hiss and bare his claws. I didn’t know what his real name was, but I referred to him as ‘Beast’.
“Oh my God,” Olivia whispered. I didn’t know what it was about this place, but everyone always whispered. The books were reminiscent of a library, but there were no signs tel ing anyone ‘quiet please’. Perhaps the people who come into bookstores like this al have an innate respect for the written word. Either way, I enjoyed the sound of her quiet voice as she said, “How appropriate is it that we walk into the history section?” So far, everything was going wel .
Pointing at the cat, she said, “He’s watching you like he knows you.” I glanced from the cat back to Olivia. She licked her bottom lip and stared right back at the furry demon. “Did you pul his tail the last time you were in here or something?”
“No,” I said with a chuckle. “He’s just mean.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.” Again, she looked around. She took her time studying the stacks of books, some neatly upright, others piled on their sides. There were books on the floor, neatly lining the sections, and there were books in glass cases, indicating that they were more special. Above the wooden shelves, trinkets and little pieces of local history lined the tops. Campaign buttons, beer mugs from local bars, old glass bottles, carved wooden vases and vessels, a few old stuffed animals, framed pictures of black and white photos, and ancient looking rocks and pinecones littered the area close to the ceiling. “This place is awesome.”
A wave of delight ran through me. I’d hoped she would like it. I’d hoped it would be a place we could share. “You haven’t even seen the second floor. Or
After a moment, she unbuckled her seat belt and ran her hands through her hair. “And if you’re so okay with contracting a fatal condition or disease, why don’t you drive? Didn’t you say it was because you could die?”
I looked down at my lap. She was right.
“Look,” she said, touching my forearm. I raised my gaze to her. “I don’t care if you eat meat, okay? Who I am and what I do has no bearing on who you are and what you do. When I talk about how I feel about animal welfare, it’s not a judgment on you because you eat meat. I don’t usual y talk about this stuff with people because they get weird and defensive, as if me being vegan is some kind of social statement about them. And it’s not.”
“Okay.” It real y was al I could say.
“We cool?” she asked.
I popped my seat belt. “We’re cool.” Nodding to the brick building in front of us, I asked, “Want to go in?” I’d never been in a situation where I’d spoken so intensely about what was obviously a personal subject before. I didn’t quite understand why it had gotten so tense, but as we got out of the car and walked into the bookstore, everything seemed fine again.
Part of why I loved M.T. Shelves so much was because of the smel . It hit me as soon as I opened the glass door. I let Olivia go in first, but as I stepped over the threshold, I could almost feel the books. Barnes & Noble wasn’t like this. It didn’t smel or feel like anything, real y, except maybe lattes and mochas. This bookstore, however, had that dusty, old aroma. I knew if I took too deep of a breath through my nose, I’d probably start sneezing.
Straight in front of us were stacks and stacks of books. American History books were a few feet away. To the left was military history and to the right was the counter where the register sat. Instead of a person, an orange furbal stared us down. That was the bookstore’s cat. Every time I’d been in here, the cat would fol ow me around, as if making sure I behaved in his home. But when I’d try to pet him he’d hiss and bare his claws. I didn’t know what his real name was, but I referred to him as ‘Beast’.
“Oh my God,” Olivia whispered. I didn’t know what it was about this place, but everyone always whispered. The books were reminiscent of a library, but there were no signs tel ing anyone ‘quiet please’. Perhaps the people who come into bookstores like this al have an innate respect for the written word. Either way, I enjoyed the sound of her quiet voice as she said, “How appropriate is it that we walk into the history section?” So far, everything was going wel .
Pointing at the cat, she said, “He’s watching you like he knows you.” I glanced from the cat back to Olivia. She licked her bottom lip and stared right back at the furry demon. “Did you pul his tail the last time you were in here or something?”
“No,” I said with a chuckle. “He’s just mean.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.” Again, she looked around. She took her time studying the stacks of books, some neatly upright, others piled on their sides. There were books on the floor, neatly lining the sections, and there were books in glass cases, indicating that they were more special. Above the wooden shelves, trinkets and little pieces of local history lined the tops. Campaign buttons, beer mugs from local bars, old glass bottles, carved wooden vases and vessels, a few old stuffed animals, framed pictures of black and white photos, and ancient looking rocks and pinecones littered the area close to the ceiling. “This place is awesome.”
A wave of delight ran through me. I’d hoped she would like it. I’d hoped it would be a place we could share. “You haven’t even seen the second floor. Or
Similar Books
