Page 1 of Marginally Yours
Chapter One
Igrew up in this bookstore. When I was a kid, my parents would bring me here once a week to pick out a new book from the used section in the back. That all ended when they split up and Dad moved across the country with his new girlfriend while my mom and I pinched pennies in a town whose claim to fame at the time was not one, buttwodollar stores within a half mile radius. With the closest library being nearly an hour away, and Mom working overtime to pay bills, I resorted to making up my own stories. I had just hit double digits at the time, so I'm sure they were terrible, but getting lost in the world I was creating was even better than getting lost in someone else's.
The problem with having a brain that only functions when you're pumping it full of serotonin is that finishing a big project isn't really in the cards most of the time. I'd get an idea, do all the research, plan and plot and outline, and then lose steam and move on to the next bright idea.
There are fewer worse fates for a creative person than having either ideas or motivation, but not both.
I continued to jot down bits and pieces of storiesthroughout my preteen years but eventually gave up around tenth grade. I never lost my love of reading, though. If anything, that passion only grew over the years. I figured that if I couldn’t create an epic fantasy world, I could at least be an enthusiastic participant in someone else’s.
Daring heroes going on wild adventures in expansive fantasy worlds, rescuing the downtrodden, overthrowing tyrannical dictators, and freeing the people from their oppressive regime… There was so much to immerse myself in that the real world didn't seem so bad anymore. The only way I was able to forget about all the bad shit going on around me was with my nose in a book.
Between the messy divorce, the gnawing ache of inadequacy, and the standard trauma associated with growing up weird in a small town, my youth was less than pleasant. As I entered my teens, this was all exacerbated by the unholy trinity of mental illness - depression, anxiety, and ADHD. My life isn’t terrible, but some days I’m barely a willing participant in it. I’m here, but I’m just sotired.
Eventually, I found a new way to jump into different worlds when I discovered single-player RPGs, and it wasn’t long before I was spending more time outside of reality than in it. I started growing out my hair and cut it to look like one of my favorite video game characters. Long on top, pulled back into a dark brown knot, and buzzed short on the sides. Then came the beard, short and thick with a slight red tint.
This was followed by the next logical choice, of course. Most of my spare cash over the years has gone towards covering myself from shoulder to fingertips with a collage of tattoos from my favorite books, movies, and games. I have some more personal ones that are hidden, but I decided that, if I'm going to spend the time and money to get them, they should be visible, and anyone who has an opinion about it can eat shit.
In a small town like ours, this all means a lot of judging looks from people who have known me to be generally quiet and polite my whole life, and a severely limited list of local career prospects.
Lucky for me, a medical research team opened a new facility just outside of town a few months after I graduated high school. They prioritized hiring locals, and they didn't care what any of us looked like, as long as we were ready to work. They’re environmentally responsible as far as anyone can tell, and they offer a pretty sweet benefits package. It’s a great gig, and it pays really well.
I was one of the first security guards they hired for their surveillance team when they opened. I'm a bigger guy, and while a lot of it is muscle, most of it is just tacos and genetics. I figured they hired me because my bulky 6'4" frame is more than a little intimidating, but it's really just a desk job. Because they went to such lengths to make sure that they weren't pieces of corporate shit, there’s very little pushback and not much risk of break ins, which makes my shifts a breeze, but a little dull.
So, I read.
I keep all the camera feeds visible and have the volume up on the motion sensors around the building, but I’m barely involved. I’m just a body in a seat, ready to act if there’s an emergency, but otherwise just taking up space. In my head, though, I’m fighting Balrogs and solving murders and being swept up in epic adventures and romance.
My favorite place to get my fix is this bookstore. It’s conveniently located on my short drive to work. There’s always parking right out front, and I might as well have a “Devon’s Parking Only” sign installed. Hannah in the café makes the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life. Some days, I’ll grab a new release that I’ve been waiting for or pick something from the “Staff Suggests” table. Other days, I’ll grab an old paperback from the used shelves behind the stacks.
I’m easy to please, so I’m rarely disappointed by anything I read. If I can escape into the book, I’m happy with it. Fantasy is my preferred genre, but I love a good murder mystery or historical fiction, too. Contrary to the male reader stereotype, I’ve also been known to enjoy a good romance.
Today’s goal is a new release that I’ve been excited to read for a while. It’s a continuation of a series I read as a teenager, with powerful dragons and brave riders going on an adventure to fight the looming evil and free their people.
A frigid wind gusts down the street, biting at my ears and tossing dead leaves around my feet. Pumpkin carcasses lay forgotten on the doorstep, left out after Halloween for the squirrels and birds. I hurry through the door to escape the cold. The chime of the bell on the door is so familiar, ingrained in my brain like a Pavlovian trigger that releases all my tension.
Eddie is behind the counter, and I wave at him as I make my way to the display. We went to high school together and his uncle worked here before he retired, so he made sure Eddie got the job. I’m glad, because he’s always been a friendly face, even though we were never really close. He returns the wave and goes back to what I can safely assume is the crossword puzzle from today's paper.
I pick up a copy from the table and turn to take it to the register, but a flash of purple in the stacks catches my eye. There’s a woman standing in the used books section, pulling books off the shelf and scribbling something on a clipboard before gently sliding them back and repeating with another book.
In a town with barely a 4-digit population, it was rare to see a person that you hadn’t known your whole life. It’scompletely unheard of to see a beautiful woman, presumably your own age, who you don’t at least already know about.
Yet, here she stands, a modern miracle.
She tucks a few stray strands of her pale blonde hair behind her ear, securing them with her pen. Her hair is loose and short, falling just below her chin, with wavy bangs framing her heart-shaped face. Her pale blue eyes dart across the clipboard and a lavender sundress flows around her as she turns away from me and heads to the next shelf. She's got tiny fine line tattoos scrolling across the nape of her neck and down into the back of her dress, and I'm overwhelmed with a desire to trace them.Stop it, you fucking creep.
She continues her task, and I watch for a few minutes while I build up the nerve to... do... something? I can't think of a single valid set of words that I can string together to introduce myself to this girl. I don't think I've had to introduce myself to someone new in a decade, honestly. What do I even say? I try to brainstorm for a minute, but it's more like a brainsprinkle because all I can come up with is 'Hi, I'm Devon'. I already want to punch myself in the face on her behalf.
My brain is still buffering, trying desperately to come up with something to say, when I realize in horror that I've been staring at her this whole time, and now she's looking back at me. How long have I been staring?! I panic, and the spinning wheel of awkwardness in my head settles on "Smile and Wave", so that's what I do. I'm positive the smile has too many teeth, and the wave was more of a salute, but some kind of merciful deity grants me relief when she waves back, her smile crinkling the edges of her eyes.
Success thaws my brain enough to come up with a few words to say, but shock delays the response time just enough that she's already turned back to her clipboard when I hold the book up.
“Have you read this one yet?” I ask. Generic, but it was themost non-invasive thing I could think of to ask someone who's actively employed at a bookstore.
Unfortunately for me, whatever grace I had been granted has been snatched away. Disappointment floods over me as she moves farther down the shelf with no response. She doesn’t even look my way.
Message received, loud and clear. I may have mumbled a bit, but I'm only a few feet away. Either she doesn't have any interest in talking to me, or she's busy and doesn't want to be disturbed. Regardless, I'm not keen on being an unwanted intrusion, and I can respect her space. She’s probably just busy.
I head up to the register and Eddie stuffs the newspaper under the counter when he sees me coming.
