20
September 1999
This is the me I wanted to be when I moved to Boston four years ago. Afternoon-turned-evening sun washed the sidewalk outside the store-front windows while I opened box after box and shelved book after book. I took short time-outs to change CDs and collapse boxes and skip down the steps for a drink of water. Sometimes strangers gathered in the doorway and stared at the boxes and the empty shelves and the general dishevel... and I would stop alphabetizing in order to greet them. "When are you opening?" "First week in October." I feel like I'm counting down to the rest of my life. As of this morning, I am a part-time bookseller at Wellesley Booksmith, brand new sister store to the Boston-and-beyond-famous Brookline Booksmith. I can't remember the last time I felt this fortunate and fulfilled. Opening that first box, fiction A-C, had a transmogrifying effect on me. I removed the crumpled newsprint to reveal treasures in all sizes. Hardcover Chekhov. Complete Auster. Carver, Boyle, and Clavel staring seriously from their back-cover perches. The smooth innocence of hundreds of books unread. Heavenly. I found myself engaged in a acrobatic dance with the step stool. I couldn't tell whether there were people outside looking in to watch me work, but I was smiling anyway. Mostly-empty shelves began to overflow with color and order and curiosity. Three hours of sheer joy. While Michael, the manager, locked up I wandered around the other partially-shelved sections. Greeting cards, biography, post-its, A Light in the Attic, golfing, and peanut butter dog biscuits. I've never felt so at home. Where do you work? biggest kiss... ...kristen |
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