Shelf Life

Books are the closest thing there is to real magic. Between the front cover and the back cover, pages are filled with possibilities infinite in scope. Dragons are slain. Heists are pulled. People fall in and out of love. For many, books are an escape from reality. A curtain is pulled over our window to reality, if only for a little while, to keep life at bay.

That’s why Neil’s favorite thing to do when payday rolled around was to stop by Wendell’s books. His modest earnings as a barista allowed this small self-indulgence; it was the small ray of light in his otherwise mundane life. He’d started at Coffee King, his college’s coffee shop, during his freshman year as a way to ease the blow of student loans. Through the years he became adept at brewing the perfect espresso and  comfortable with the familiar faces.

As graduation approached, Neil was stricken with anxiety over the actual usefulness of his English degree. He could drink in prose from the likes of Faulkner and Ginsberg and consume words to no end, but there was little money it. So he chose to stay on at Coffee King after graduation until he could right the ship of his life. At least that’s what he told himself. But money and comfort tend to breed complacency. The months turned into years as he watched his friends move away to start their careers. The familiar faces got younger. Comfort turned into resentment. He daydreamed constantly about different lives he’d give anything to live, yet couldn’t find a way to change his.

But still, he had his books. On days just like this one, he would walk the couple blocks down to Wendell’s after picking up his paycheck and return with a new find. He’d go back to the stock room because he didn’t like going home, sit on a crate and lose himself.

Today was one of those small rays of light. Wendell’s Used Books was located above a Chinese restaurant, and the tangy aroma was tantalizing if you were going up the stairs on an empty stomach. Fortunately for Neil, management let him eat the baked goods they didn’t sell.

The bell above the door rang as he pulled it open and the intoxicating aroma of dust and old paper greeted him. Earl, the shopkeeper, looked up lazily from the counter. His heavy face rested on one hand and the other flicked in Neil’s general direction as he turned the page of a magazine. Shelves filled with brooks stretched from floor to ceiling surrounding the counter. Mismatched stacks peppered the floor. A person had to be careful when browsing.

“Hiya, Earl,” Neil chirped. “Got anything new in?”

“Hey, kid,” Earl said, sighing deeply. “There are a few new ones, but nothing that stuck out. Go see for yourself.” He pointed a thumb behind him to the small reading room tucked in the back of the store.

Neil ventured past the counter, but slowly, so he could take in the disjointed array of books on their shelves. He’d been up and down these aisles countless times, but he gave the books his respect every time. Eventually he arrived at the cart of new arrivals in the back to find that Earl was right; it was slim pickings this week. He thumbed through them anyway, hoping to find a diamond in the rough when it hit him.

A shock went through his body and he thought he might faint. It was humid up here in this attic book store, but it didn’t feel like exhaustion; not a feeling of too little in the tank, but too much. He grabbed a shelf to steady himself and the feeling passed.

He continued to half-heartedly flip through the books on the cart, though the shock had been replaced by something else – the feeling of being watched. Drums began going off in his head.

He looked around the cramped area but there were no other eyes to be met. Off a ways in the corner was a bookshelf barely touched by the light from the lamp hanging above. It was a cascade of brown hardcovers with a hodge-podge of paperbacks jammed into open spaces. But in the center, one book in particular stood out.

The spine was black with gold lettering. Next to the tattered brown books covered in dust, this book looked like it was covered in fresh black paint. As Neil approached, he felt a sense of pull. Like the book wanted to be chosen. He ran a finger down the spine. The material was unlike anything he’d known; smoother than silk, sturdier than leather. He pulled it from the shelf and turned it over in his hands. There was a warmth to the book that made his heart rate quicken. On the cover an imprint of a metallic gold crown. Nothing else. No author, no publisher.

“Find anything?” Earl called from the front.

Neil was shook out of his gaze. How long have I been standing here? he thought. He looked down and saw that his knuckles were white from his tight grip on the book.

“Um…yeah,” Neil said, clearing his throat. “I found this black book back here. Looks pretty neat.” He made his way back to the counter where Earl was, trying to keep a normal pace. He felt a bond growing stronger the longer he held onto the book. He offered it to Earl with faint hesitation. “How much?”

He took it and furrowed his brow as he slid his spectacles down his nose to examine it closer. Neil’s palms broke into a sweat.

“Hmm…I don’t recognize this guy. Where’d you say you found it?”

“Over in the back, on the shelf in the corner.”

“Hang on one sec. Let me check on it for you.” Earl set the book down and slid off his stool, ambling to the back and out of sight. A wave of impulse overtook Neil as something inside said that book needed to be his no matter what. Without thinking, he grabbed the black book and bolted out of the store.

What the hell am I doing? he thought. But shortly after that thought came this one: That burned bridge is worth it. With his treasure now back in his hands, he felt the warmth pulsate as he hurried down the stairs and back to Coffee King.

It was quiet and there weren’t many customers. His shift was soon, but he wanted to start reading as soon as he could. Ducking into the stock room, he found his favorite crate and sat. The book seemed to whisper as Neil opened it.

The story began with an exiled prince in medieval England. He sat in the woods on the outskirts of the kingdom, pride and honor stripped from him. An invading army had taken the castle by storm and ransacked the village. The conquering king had taken his princess, publicly shaming him in the process. But the prince had maddening thoughts of vengeance and just what he needed to exact it.

As the story progressed, the heat from the book had gone from Neil’s hands up to his forearms. His fingers had turned to transparent liquid, blending in with the black text. Paper and flesh had become one. It started slowly, but gradually sped up. His forearms became connected midway to the book on either side. It was consuming him. But he felt no fear. Excitement flooded him. He’d felt that warmth in all of those daydreams, yet it felt distant. Now it was here.  He knew with complete certainty that his soul was leaving the stock room and filling up the exiled prince like a glass of water.

As Neil felt his feet hit the heavy grass and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the black book with the gold crown snapped shut and fell to the hard floor of Coffee King’s stock room. He was finally home.