Confessions of a Curious Bookseller(80)
Sent: Thu, Jul 4, 2019 at 3:03 PM
To: Tabitha Birchill
Subject: Father
Dear Mother,
I’m sorry I missed your call, though I wish you hadn’t left that message and instead just simply asked that I call you back immediately. And now, after several tries, I cannot seem to get through to you. Can you please tell me when the funeral will be? Will it be Catholic to align with how he was raised, or will it be born-again?
Perhaps we should bury him with his Pendleton blanket? I think he might like that. Call me please.
Fawn
July 4, 2019
My father is dead. My father is dead. My father is dead. My father is dead.
July 4, 2019 (More)
I find it rather humorous and a bit ironic that I am surrounded by books with mostly clean old-fashioned conclusions—where the protagonist struggles against a great burden, is forced against an immovable object, but in the end manages to overcome, to break free and rise above. Or perhaps like in some of my Russian novels (take Nabokov, for example), the protagonist manages to give in to selfishness and childishness and is ultimately crushed under their own hubristic weight. But here, in the real world, we just keep living. Living until we expire. This is the irony: that I live surrounded by these fantasy-filled, tidy ribbon-and-bow stories where all is either figured out or dashed upon the rocks, and here I must continue to idly muddle through. It’s very anticlimactic, being human. Existing not as a grandiose character in a story but as a mere living and breathing animal with veins and gray hair and a bad back.
I sit here in the afternoons, listen to the somber groaning of this building, and eat my ham sandwich lunch to the sobering melody: groan . . . creak . . . groan! Sometimes I put on Mozart. Sometimes a customer falls in through my doors (I call it falling these days because that’s the way they now appear to me, as if they’ve been sucked through a multidimensional wormhole, baffled and horrified to have found themselves here), but mostly it is just the wind I hear, howling through the cavernous empty aisles of my fallen empire. And then, to that terrible groaning, I crawl into bed and hope that I have paid all my bills for the month and that nothing has slipped by. Not exactly the stuff of Nabokov or even Dickens—certainly not Faulkner!!
I have enough left in my savings account to sustain me for three more months.
No one wants to live life ignored. I admit that it is much easier to deal with when it is coworkers or fellow business owners than when it is my own family. But I don’t care. I don’t care at all. I have learned to accept it and pretend I don’t see it and wear it as an invisible cross and lug it around at family functions while everyone fawns over Florence and never me, never me, it’s never ever going to be me.
From: Jack Grisby
Sent: Fri, Jul 5, 2019 at 9:32 AM
To: Fawn Birchill
Subject: Book Shelf Collaps
There was a book shelf collaps this morning. All the books fell. I can’t find you what do I do? Also can’t find Bert hopefully he’s not underneath.
Jack
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Fri, Jul 5, 2019 at 9:39 AM
To: Jack Grisby
Re: Book Shelf Collaps
Jack,
For now, please stack the books in a pile until I find a solution. Please take the broken shelf outside for trash. Bert is with me, so nothing fell on him, thankfully. And collapse is spelled with an e.
Fawn, Owner
THE CURIOUS CAT BOOK EMPORIUM
Blog Post #7
Did you know . . . ?
In this blog entry, we will go through a typical day at the Curious Cat Book Emporium!
At 7:30 I awake, and after a brief beautification session, I have toast, yogurt, and orange juice. I then feed Bert, the cat, and head downstairs to the bookstore. Jack usually arrives at eight, and together we turn on the music (classical) and open the windows if it’s a nice day. Jack rolls the discount books onto the sidewalk, and when that’s done, he counts inventory. After lunch Jack chooses a section and makes sure it is properly alphabetized while I assist customers. Sometimes I will help Jack with memorizing his lines for a play he is in if we are having a slow moment, though slow moments are quite rare. Toward evening Jack wheels the discount books back in (those that haven’t been sold), then we lock up the store and close the windows. Sometimes, when we are feeling extra energetic, Jack and I will do a quick dusting and cleaning, occasionally breaking into raucous dance—twirling through the store, dust flying, Jack careening down the spiral staircase while I pirouette and sashay through the aisles laughing and singing like a child. I doubt many stores have the kind of fun that we do. We may not be rich, but at least we have a blast surviving!
From: Jack Grisby
Sent: Mon, Jul 8, 2019 at 7:23 AM
To: Fawn Birchill
Subject: Coyotes
Hi Fawn,
Omg did you hear the coyotes last night? They woke me up and then I couldn’t sleep so I just watched Big Bang Theory under my blanket because they are so scary omg.
Jack
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Mon, Jul 8, 2019 at 8:40 AM
To: Jack Grisby
Re: Coyotes
Jack,
No, I don’t think you were hearing coyotes, especially if you live in Center City. Have you ever heard of Occam’s razor? Most likely, there were just a few wise guys having fun last night outside your apartment.
It’s a nice day, so please wheel out the cart for the sidewalk sale. Include the romance novels. They smell a bit like urine, but it’s harder to detect outdoors.