Page 7 of It's Me They Follow
So she asked the person behind the counter the same question.
“Well,” said theteenybopper barista, who turned around wearing aParents Just Don’t UnderstandT-shirt, “I mean...”
“Thisisthe school bookstore, right?” The Shopkeeper asked again.
“Yeah, I mean, yes. But. Of course. Well. It’s just, like, nobody even... I think there are still books in the back by the restrooms. But nobody goes back there because it kinda, like, stinks. You smell me?” The teenybopper wrinkled her nose.
“No, I don’t smell you.”
“It’s slang.” The teenybopper giggled. “You smell familiar.”
“Is that slang?” The Shopkeeper couldn’t keep up.
“No, it’s not slang. You smell familiar, kinda like deer hide”—the teenybopper sniffed the air—“and incense.”
The Shopkeeper thanked the teenybopper using praying hands, a bow, and her best customer-service smile. Was this the future? Was she going to end up having to sell her face printed on panties and pouches someday to keep her bookshop afloat? She’d have to get the bookshop open first to find out. As instructed, The Shopkeeper followed her nose toward the putrid smell of the restrooms. “You can’t miss it,” the teenybopper had insisted.
In the back, right before the toilets, was one lonely shelf of dust-covered dust jackets—and on that lonely shelf were three stacks of books, and they were all hers,Conversations with Harriett.She hadn’t printed them, and she didn’t know how they got there, yet there they were.
She picked each one up, wiped each one off. Rubbed each spine. Opened each one up to a different page. Made them feel seen. And maybe it was the utter funk of the bathrooms, maybe it was the tight hat or the thick dust, but something came over her as she cleaned the last book—and she couldn’t leave her books behind to suffer like that, she thought. It would be inhumane. So she grabbed all of them, took them to the register. She would take them back and set them free.
Way back in her teenage years, The Shopkeeper had vowed never to become a book snob, judging people’s shelves and bindings and titles, yet she couldn’t help shaking her head at the state of this university bookstore. The more no one touched them, the more no one wanted to. She didn’t know if she was more upset that no one wanted them or that they were there without her even knowing.
When it was her turn at the register, she told the teenybopper, “I’ll take these.”
“These books?”
“Yes, please. All of them.”
“Even this one?” The teenybopper held up a sickly copy with a damaged cover. “It has a broken wing.”
“Especially that one.” The Shopkeeper looked at the time. She would be late for class again. “I’ll fix it later.” The Shopkeeper tried to speed things along.
“I’ll have to ask my manager if we can do that.”
“Do what?” The Shopkeeper asked, annoyed.
“Sell those books.”
“But it’s a booksto—”
“And the hat?” the teenybopper continued. “Want that too?”
The Shopkeeper needed to leave, but she couldn’t leave her books behind. “Nah. These hats are too small for my head.”
The teenybopper picked up the phone and called her manager. “Hi, sorry to bother you. There’s a lady here; she’s trying to buy all of the... theConversations with Harriett. Yeah, from the back. Is that okay? Ohhh... No, I was just double-checking. It just seemed a bit... Yeah. Odd. Exactly. But okay... Thanks!”
“She said it’s fine,” the teenybopper said to The Shopkeeper, who was growing impatient. “Can I ask you another question? Totally no disrespect.”
“Go for it.” The Shopkeeper looked at the time again.
“Anyone ever tell you how much you look like the lady who wroteConversations with Harriett?” she whispered. “She’s a legend.”
A legend. The Shopkeeper wanted to laugh. More like a myth. “Never heard of her,” The Shopkeeper lied.
“But seriously, I mean, you two could be sisters. Word is, she’s opening a bookshop in Fishtown next month. Since you like books and whatnot, you should go check her out.”
She knew the teenybopper was going to try to be cool and kind and hand her a receipt and fist bump, but The Shopkeeper couldn’t riskfalling asleep with all those books in her hands—she’d hurt someone. She shifted to the right.
