The Story of a Boy: Part 2

With a heavy a sigh and little hesitation the young boy walked across the street towards the door of the Antique Books Store. With determination and force he placed his hand on the latch handle of the door and pushed as if it were made of lead. It swung open with ease, sending his feet tumbling over themselves as he stepped inside. Using the door handle to regain control, he paused and looked at what had been calling him to enter for so long, but had refused to answer before that moment. Taking a few steps inside, he let go of the handle and stood silently as the door slowly swung shut before slamming into the frame with a crash and light jingle of a bell, reverberating throughout the dust and shadows resembling the catacombs of a vacated tomb.

Once the bell settled into silence nothing moved and the room was still as the boy admired the sight before his eyes rather than from behind dirty glass. It was like stepping into Oz after watching the first half of the movie on a twelve inch black and white television. It was a book lover’s dream.

In front of him stood endless upon endless stalagmites of pages, words, phrases, similes, metaphors, authors, and pseudonyms. To his right sat an outdated cash register of tarnished brass and elaborate copper buried beneath countless book covers. Narrow paths branched from the front door leading in all directions around tables, odd islands of books that had erupted in sections throughout the floor, and into the shadows away from the natural light of day into the foreboding shelves leading to the back of the store. Jutting books of aged leather and bound covers protruded from petrified wood bookcases. To his left and right were balconies he had not seen from the street corner. Stairs of bronze that seemed to be made of gold spiraled upward to the bookshelves of haphazardly arranged material. No words were spoken as the boy listened to still thoughts and adventures that lay in wait in every corner of the store for their tales to be reborn through the imagination of an unsuspecting boy, girl, or adult seeking to revisit their supposedly lost childhood. There was so much material he didn’t know where to start.

The young boy looked around the store for any sign of a salesperson, or customer. There were none. He listened to the silence of the unturned pages, the sound of his own breathing as he watched small particles of dust float past rays of slowly moving sunlight like miniature hot air balloons. Shadows and muffled soles against pavement could be seen and heard from the opposite side of the window the boy had grown accustomed to looking through throughout the summer. Now the Antique Books Store’s letters were backward and alien too him, like standing on the opposite side of a mirror.

If only they knew what they were missing,” the young boy said to himself softly.
He scanned the store in sheer amazement at how many books there were. The thought of all the stories and adventures that lay at his fingertips made him so excited he felt as if he could not control himself. He stepped forward to the first table of oddly stacked books on his path leading to other sections of the store. The hard wood floor creaked and moaned beneath his shoes as if someone were walking on the ceiling directly beneath his heels. His eyes locked on the first cover sitting on the table in front of him. As he studied the faded image of a boy in tights with balled fists resting on his hips he heard something move, shuffle, and fall near the back of the store.

The young boy looked up, startled.
(Continues in the next blog)