Page 36 of It's Me They Follow
“Not ‘what,’ not ‘with.’ ‘WIT.’ ‘Gettin’ Jiggy WIT It.’ Philly vernacular for the masses.”
“Okay, so even if ‘Gettin’ Jiggy WIT It’ comes on the radio, you agree not to touch my radio?”
“Unless...”
“Unless you want these hands.” Her sister pretended to pop The Shopkeeper’s hands. They both laughed.
“So you’ll spank me if I turn up Will while we cruise in your cherry red convertible, even though it feels like summertime in the winter? Isn’t that what a red convertible is for? It screams, ‘Look at me, I’m listening to “Summertime,” loud, on repeat, so you can feel good for a few seconds while I drive by.’”
“‘Spare the rod.’” Her sister mimicked their grandmother. “‘Spoil the child.’ ‘Don’t touch it’ means ‘don’t touch it.’” The Shopkeeper understood the purpose of her sister’s rule. She had a tendency to hear a song and get so excited that she turned it up so loud that it startled the driver—it had happened enough to give people pause. The Shopkeeper wondered if her sister would spare the rod with her own child. It certainly had never been spared on them.
“What about when you get out to pump gas?” The Shopkeeper asked.
“Why would you ever let me be the one pumping gas?” said her sister, pointing at her belly. The Shopkeeper knew her sister would use her belly to get into and out of everything she wanted.
“What if I’m driving?” The Shopkeeper said for argument’s sake; she did not intend to drive, especially with a baby on board.
“You will NOT be driving my car,” Elle said, reading her sister’s mind.
“What if it’s the end of the world?”
“You’re starting already.”
“You see how hot it is outside? The end of the world is near.” The Shopkeeper snapped with all seriousness and shot her sister a strong look. When she couldn’t hold it in any longer, they both laughed.
“Even if the world is ending, DON’T TOUCH MY RADIO. It’s okay for some things to be your things and some things to be my things, like how this is MY radio.” They’d shared almost everything as children—clothes, food, toys, friends, beds, and books. The Shopkeeper often needed a reminder that they didn’t need to share everything anymore. She missed those days of walking in her sister’s near-perfect shoes. She wondered if they’d share the baby somehow.
“Fine.” The Shopkeeper crossed two fingers behind her back just in case. “I will not touch your radio, unless there’s an emergency.” She had a copy ofRadio Golfin her bag for moments like this; August Wilson could keep her busy for hours. She pulled it out and waved it side to side so her sister could see. “I don’t need your radio. I have one of my own. Next rule.”
“Next rule: no sleep. And I hope you don’t have your fingers crossed behind your back, because that’s cheating. And it builds mistrust. Anyway, you sleeping makes me sleepy.” This was the problem. The Shopkeeper was not a child anymore. And she was supposed to be the older sister, but she never felt that way. Elle had grown up fast and bossy while The Shopkeeper had barely grown up at all. And now she’d no longer be her sister’s baby either.
“I can agree to that, as long as you can agree... to play the question game... without any arguing.” They’d been playing the question game as long as she could remember, but it had almost always turned into arguing when theywere little. It was a simple game, childlike. But it had gotten more intense as they’d gotten older. Be curious, not annoying. Probe, but don’t be invasive. Ask “who,” “what,” “where,” “why” questions and listen. Deep listen. Let it get personal; that was the point.
“Love the question game. I made it up.”
“You did not make it up,” The Shopkeeper teased.
“I sure did. Back of the library. I wrote down, ‘Let’s play a game,’ and you wrote back, ‘Okay. What are the rules?’ I wrote, ‘Let’s ask each other questions.’ And you said, ‘No yes-or-no answers.’ I wrote one last rule for this road trip. Ready?”
“Another rule?” The Shopkeeper was growing impatient, and they hadn’t even pulled off yet. She’d be respectful yet march to the beat of her own drum. None of this was necessary. No matter what, The Shopkeeper would do what she thought was right.
“The last rule is simple, but it’s not easy: TRUST.”
The Shopkeeper felt a tinge of guilt in her gut as the word “trust” heated fire in her belly and her throat. She had a hard time thinking about trust without thinking about betrayal. She’d lost trust in their parents early in life. She’d lost trust in friends and lovers, clients and mentors. It had affected everything. Elle had been her best friend since she was born. They were almost twins. If The Shopkeeper could trust anyone, it should be her, but even that was a strugglefor The Shopkeeper for no good reason. “Our grandmother used to say, ‘Lean not...’”
“‘On your own understanding.’” Her sister finished the sentence, mimicking their grandmother with a waving finger. “Exactly. So, when you can’t do it, believe there’s something stronger than you that can.”
Trust was like driving through a long, slippery tunnel without a guide. It took guts and stupidity and obsession. If you were ever stuck in a tunnel and lived to talk about it, you might never want to take another tunnel again. But then you’d be stuck forever. That is how some people manage to trust over and over and over again. And others do not.
“You look like you’ve been VERY trusting lately,” The Shopkeeper joked.
“Oh, I have been soooooooo trusting.” Elle laughed. “Really, really, really, very, very.”
The Shopkeeper closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths in and out as she settled into the passenger seat. Waves of anxiety flowed through her when she thought about a trip Down South. She breathed out with a sigh.
What if something happens to the bookshop while I’m gone?
Inhale. Exhale. Sigh.
