“Fine, just fine, my dear. What brings you in today?” He cradles a stack of hardcovers in his frail-looking arms.
“Oh, just general displeasure with the modern world—what else?”
He huffs a short laugh. “I see we’re gonna need something stronger than decaf.” Sighing, he nods his head for me to follow.
This has become our little tradition. I come in, Mr. Tatler brings out two coffees and we sit in the two worn leather chairs near the classics section which have clearly seen better days. I never see anyone else in the store which is a relief, actually. Mr. Tatler and I became fast friends, bonding over our love of fiction and mythology. I know that the shop has been in his family for generations but business must not be thriving, since the last time it was updated was probably the late 90’s. But I don’t mind. I think it adds to this place’s charm.
He places the steaming styrofoam cup in my hands. Then, sinking into the worn brown leather, he holds up a hand for me to begin.
“So,” he says expectantly.
“So what?” I lift the steaming cup to my lips and blow.
“What’s the story this week?”
“No story, just self-isolating as usual. Hence, coming here to hide among the new releases.”
He chuckles. “Nice try. You’re not getting off the hook that easy. What’s so terrible that you have to hole up in this rotting building with a decrepit old man?”
“I’ve just been thinking about the past a lot,” I admit. “Nothing has turned out the way I planned. It feels like the only time I can escape my regrets is when I lose myself in a book.”
I raise my eyes to his shyly. Saying it out loud feels kind of embarrassing.
“There is nothing in this world worth feeling regret over. It keeps the past alive, but always out of reach. Don’t torture yourself.” He pauses. “Maybe what you need is some friends your own age.”
I laugh. “People think I’m weird. Anti-social. And they’re probably right." I hesitate before continuing. " I think there’s something broken in me. Itry, but I can’t relate to most people. Everyone makes it look so easy. They laugh, and they joke, and they all seem solightcompared to the way I feel inside. I mean, I feel more connected to my favorite book characters than I do to people I know and they’re not even real. How ridiculous is that?” I pause, studying my hands wrapped around the warmth of the cup. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump all of this self-pity on you.”
He leans forward in his chair.
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, understand? You’re not broken. Your heart is kind and generous. You’re wise beyond your years. And you must never forget that you possess a very rare, child-like wonder inside of you. The kind of wonder that allows you to see beyond what is and glimpse what could be. You see a world of ideals, a world of possibility. You, my dear, have a wanderer’s soul.”
A wanderer’s soul.
It sounds beautiful, but I know it’s just a fancy way of saying I’m a hopeless dreamer. And look where it’s gotten me in life.
He smiles sadly. “You’re meant for more than any of those people can imagine. Your life is going to be bigger than even you know.”
“Are you kidding? There is nothing exciting or big about my life.”
“So change it.” He shrugs.
“Easier said than done. I have a job. Bills to pay. I can’t just go off and have these wild adventures in order to find myself like they do in books and movies. This is real life—I’m not some heroine.”
“But what if you are?” he asks earnestly, studying me for a long minute.
“This feels oddly like a therapy session. Would you like to collect payment now, or are you going to bill me at the end?”
“Listen. I’ve lived a long time.” His brown eyes fix mine in a serious gaze. “Many lifetimes, or so it seems. Your only regret in life will be to remain in the shadow of the person you want to be. When you close your eyes and see the story of your life, who are you? Who is that young woman that you feel you are failing to be?”
The air is suddenly thick, the silence unending.
“I—I don’t know,” I whisper. He shakes his head.
“Yes, you do. And as long as you are afraid to admit it to yourself, you will not be happy. You will not be fulfilled.”
“Wow, tell it like it really is, Mr. T.” I blow out an aspirated breath.
“What is it you want out of your life, Serena?”
