it often since they peddled two of my favorite things—books and customized stationary.
A black-haired boy was hunched over the opposite side of the counter with his eyes fastened on a page of a Stephen King novel. His hair had been shaped with great attention and a lot of grease, and he had holes in his ears the size of nickels. When he stood upright, I got a peephole view of the shelf of books on the wall behind him. It was like looking through a magnifying glass without any magnification. After a minute or two it became clear that he either didn’t see me or he didn’t care, and my patience was spent.
“Excuse me,” I said.
He made an upward whipping motion with his head in my direction, but his hair didn’t move an inch.
“What’s up?” he said, or tried to say. Given the fact that he mumbled the words under his breath, I couldn’t be sure.
“Robert around?” I said.
“Yeah, but he’s chillin’ in the back right now with like some boxes of books that came in and I think he’s busy with that so he told me to come out here and help the customers.”
The operative word being help, as in to actually offer assistance when needed.
“Can you just tell him Sloane is here? He knows me.”
“Oh uh, I dunno. He said not to bother him, and he gets kinda mad when I do, so…”
I crossed to the other side of the counter and walked toward the back room. The kid seemed put off by this and shouted out after me.
“You can’t go back there,” he said.
“No worries,” I said, and I pushed open the partition that separated the main part of the store from the back room.
A voice from the back sounded off.
“Dammit Kyle, I told you not to—”
“Kyle’s still up front,” I said. “It’s just me, Robert.”
The man poked his head around one of the boxes and looked up at me.
“Oh Sloane, how are you?” he said.
He grabbed a paper towel from the green Formica countertop next to him and wiped his hands off and then stood up.
“I hope you don’t mind me coming back here,” I said.
He swished the air in a downward motion with his hand.
“Naw,” he said. “You’re my best customer.”
“Who’s the new kid?” I said.
He rolled his eyes.
“My nephew. I promised my sister I’d give him a job for the summer. He’s only here for another five days or so.”
“Sounds like you’re counting them down,” I said.
“You have no idea. I’d pay him not to come in at this point.”
“Wow, that bad, huh?”
“I got what you asked for.”
“Really?” I said. “You found it?”
“It wasn’t easy, but I sure did. Come over here and take a look.”
I followed him over to his desk. He opened the drawer and pulled out a big piece of cloth and set it in my hands. I unfolded it and stared in wonderment at the book before me.
“Well,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I can’t believe you were able to find one in such good condition,” I said. “I’ve dreamed about owning this for years.”
“Sorry it took so long to procure it for you,” he said.
“Don’t be. It was worth the wait.”
In my hand I held a UK first edition copy of Agatha Christie’s first novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles. I’d collected her works for years and always hoped one day I would be able to afford the first book she ever wrote.
“It’s too bad I wasn’t around when it first came out,” I said. “I would only owe you seven shillings and sixpence.”
He laughed.
“You missed that by a good ninety-some years, I’d say.”
I wrapped the cloth back around the book and placed it in the protective case it came in.
“I need to ask a favor,” I said.
“Another book?”
I shook my head.
“This is far more important,” I said.
I reached in my bag and lowered my volume to a whisper.
“I need you to take a look at this,” I said.
Robert withdrew the pink paper from my hands and held it flat on his palm while he walked over to his desk and put his glasses on. He held it a few
A black-haired boy was hunched over the opposite side of the counter with his eyes fastened on a page of a Stephen King novel. His hair had been shaped with great attention and a lot of grease, and he had holes in his ears the size of nickels. When he stood upright, I got a peephole view of the shelf of books on the wall behind him. It was like looking through a magnifying glass without any magnification. After a minute or two it became clear that he either didn’t see me or he didn’t care, and my patience was spent.
“Excuse me,” I said.
He made an upward whipping motion with his head in my direction, but his hair didn’t move an inch.
“What’s up?” he said, or tried to say. Given the fact that he mumbled the words under his breath, I couldn’t be sure.
“Robert around?” I said.
“Yeah, but he’s chillin’ in the back right now with like some boxes of books that came in and I think he’s busy with that so he told me to come out here and help the customers.”
The operative word being help, as in to actually offer assistance when needed.
“Can you just tell him Sloane is here? He knows me.”
“Oh uh, I dunno. He said not to bother him, and he gets kinda mad when I do, so…”
I crossed to the other side of the counter and walked toward the back room. The kid seemed put off by this and shouted out after me.
“You can’t go back there,” he said.
“No worries,” I said, and I pushed open the partition that separated the main part of the store from the back room.
A voice from the back sounded off.
“Dammit Kyle, I told you not to—”
“Kyle’s still up front,” I said. “It’s just me, Robert.”
The man poked his head around one of the boxes and looked up at me.
“Oh Sloane, how are you?” he said.
He grabbed a paper towel from the green Formica countertop next to him and wiped his hands off and then stood up.
“I hope you don’t mind me coming back here,” I said.
He swished the air in a downward motion with his hand.
“Naw,” he said. “You’re my best customer.”
“Who’s the new kid?” I said.
He rolled his eyes.
“My nephew. I promised my sister I’d give him a job for the summer. He’s only here for another five days or so.”
“Sounds like you’re counting them down,” I said.
“You have no idea. I’d pay him not to come in at this point.”
“Wow, that bad, huh?”
“I got what you asked for.”
“Really?” I said. “You found it?”
“It wasn’t easy, but I sure did. Come over here and take a look.”
I followed him over to his desk. He opened the drawer and pulled out a big piece of cloth and set it in my hands. I unfolded it and stared in wonderment at the book before me.
“Well,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I can’t believe you were able to find one in such good condition,” I said. “I’ve dreamed about owning this for years.”
“Sorry it took so long to procure it for you,” he said.
“Don’t be. It was worth the wait.”
In my hand I held a UK first edition copy of Agatha Christie’s first novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles. I’d collected her works for years and always hoped one day I would be able to afford the first book she ever wrote.
“It’s too bad I wasn’t around when it first came out,” I said. “I would only owe you seven shillings and sixpence.”
He laughed.
“You missed that by a good ninety-some years, I’d say.”
I wrapped the cloth back around the book and placed it in the protective case it came in.
“I need to ask a favor,” I said.
“Another book?”
I shook my head.
“This is far more important,” I said.
I reached in my bag and lowered my volume to a whisper.
“I need you to take a look at this,” I said.
Robert withdrew the pink paper from my hands and held it flat on his palm while he walked over to his desk and put his glasses on. He held it a few
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