Page 21 of It's Me They Follow
I was ready, so I started to tell her the items on my list.
“I want books to be hidden everywhere in the bookshop—inside of drawers and under tables. Under things, between. I want the very act of looking for a book to be an adventure.”
She knew the story of each thing on my list.
“Gilt bronze and green-tinted glass, decorated with balusters, central four-light sconces, nineteenth century. Gilt bronze clock decorated with garlands (matched with two candelabra), Louis XVI style.”
I even found a cash register!
“Sit d-d-down,” she said to me, gesturing to an armchair. “I hear you are preparing to open a bookshop, but something tells me you believe that is a destination when it is simply the beginning of your path.”
“I want to open by February 1,” I told her. “And I have no books.”
She told me she knew my work. Hearing this continues to surprise me and made my ears perk up.
“My nephew talks about you,” she told me. “A lot.”
More shock, since I’ve only known ME for a few days.
“‘You say the path with no beginning is worth beginning,’” she quoted my book. “But you’re afraid?
“Give me your hand,” she said. “I’ll read your palm.” She reached her hand out for mine. But I froze.
“Sorry,” I said as I stood up to leave. “I can’t do that.”
I just wanted the furniture and to get back before it was too late. I didn’t want to hold hands, and I didn’t want to know the future.
“ME was training with a sifu,” she shared as though I’d asked. “They didn’t do anything but sit at the Schuylkill staring at the river all day. He stayed there for five, six, seven hours watching the water in silence. Then one day his sifu said he didn’t think ME was ready to join the monkhood. ME asked him why. He said because ME was still searching for himself.” I hate when spiritual people speak in parables. “ME told him he was ready, thinking maybe his sifu was testing him. The only thing he wassearching for was the monkhood. He sold his possessions. He stopped eating meat. He meditated. How could he not be ready, he cried. But his sifu repeated that ME was still not ready and that he should consider another path, then got up and walked away. ME sat out there for another hour staring at the water, not sure what to do next. And what came to him was to create his own monkhood. Create his own way. Write his own code of conduct and live by it strictly every day. So ME will forever be a monk in training.”
I felt for him.
But his great-aunt said, “One more thing before you go. I want to show you my book.” She gestured for me to follow her to a bookcase that turned into a door that led us into the back of a small room.
I couldn’t understand how a blind woman had written a book, but she insisted I follow her to see. She had a large cabinet filled with vials and liquids and powders and roots and a book almost as large as herself opened on the table.
“Don’t look at my photos,” she said as she flipped through the pages. “This has been in our family for ages.”
“I won’t look,” I promised, more confused, because why would she show me something if she didn’t want me to see?
“And these are my formulas,” she said, pointing at the vials of different-colored liquids and powders. “Everything we need to heal or kill on this earth is right here under our noses. Your elders are here to help you,” she continued. “You just have tolearn to listen. Now run along.” She stopped herself abruptly. “This room is not for everyone. Take the cash register. And leave your list.” She was unfazed by my obvious startle. “We’ll have your things delivered tomorrow. ME will be there to help you. Good night.”
“But I haven’t paid,” I said.
“ME has,” she said. “He is very generous in that way. But like yourself, he has a lot of... issues. Who you love is always a reflection of you.”
And then the elderly woman said, “The next envelope is in your bag.” I never saw her slip it in there. Or maybe she’d had it all along. On one side was a black-and-white photo filled with women who looked like her and dressed like her in all white, with their head wraps and bare feet. They were all of a certain age. Like a yearbook of grandmothers in their back in the days. The Shopkeeper thought the woman quite beautiful. One woman looked just like her; another looked like Sister Sonia.
“That was in our younger days,” his aunt said. “Me and my literary society of sisters. Flip it over. Your letter from ME is on the other side.”
The letter read:
I hope you enjoyed our second date. It’s not over. See you tomorrow!
Ok. So, Elle, tell me your thoughts.
He is a quite complicated character, right?
I don’t know if I am mixed up in something sweet or sinister. So like I said, it’s like a Choose Your Own Adventure story.
