Ink & Interruptions

Where was he, I thought as I skimmed the shelves of our town’s local bookstore. My eyes scanned over the titles as I ran my fingers across the top of their bindings: The Round House, Macbeth, Where the Crawdads Sing, Everything that Rises Must Converge. I tried to follow the mental gymnastics used to place all these books next to each other, but after six more titles, I was convinced that the reshelving system was “see a hole, fill a hole.”

 I still didn’t understand why Simon loved this place. It was always too warm, and the clerk behind the counter gave me chills, and not in a good way. I frowned as I searched for his name in my mind. I had spoken to him the first time Simon had forced me to come with him, and if I had any control over it, that interaction would be our first and last. I remember reading his name tag before speaking to him because I had read somewhere that calling people by their names helped smooth out any nervous feelings during a conversation. Clearly, that author had never tried her techniques here. As I rifled through my memories, I slowly rotated the golden band on my right index finger. It was my favorite ring: one rose surrounded by four dainty jewels. It had been a gift, so I had never found out what type of metal it was, but I assumed it was gold since it didn’t turn my finger green.

I continued down the aisle. As I entered the next section of books, my ring caught the ray of sunlight that was streaming through the window. My ring exploded—golden rays dancing off the metal and escaping into the world; free and wild. I know that silver and other metal shimmer too, but none of them become the sun. I wanted to capture as many pieces of the sun that I could, so all my accessories were gold—my gold ring, my six gold earrings in various places on my ears, and my golden claw clip which paired with my ring wonderfully seeing as the clip was topped with a vibrant red rose.

The clip was especially useful for taming the brown ringlets bursting from my head. While my hair isn’t particularly thick, the curls pose a challenge when I try to twist them into submission beneath the clip’s claws. The first time we were here, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn the store was sitting on top of a heating pad. By the time we’d been there ten minutes, sweat was beading up on my forehead. I remember glancing around the store to see if I was being dramatic. The few patrons that were there all browsed with short sleeves or tanks even though the weather outside was chilly. The clerk, who must be part lizard, roosted near the counter wearing a thick blazer. It turned out that my only option was to shed my hoodie because when I asked the clerk if he could open the window, I must have accidentally asked him to sacrifice a baby goat. Simon had hurriedly apologized and pulled me away from the counter and towards the furthest bookshelves.

Once we were safely hidden, I yanked my hoodie over my head, forgetting about my clip until I felt it rip free. My hair went everywhere as the clip hit the floor, rattling as it tilted back and forth. I growled as I bent down to pick it up, ignoring Simon’s rant about why the books in here were too precious to expose to the weather. I honestly couldn’t believe it; how could he be siding with that blond-haired creep? I threw my hoodie in his face and started the familiar battle of trying to wrestle my curls into submission.

Struggling to maneuver the clip from one side of my hair to the other, I heard Simon begin to snicker.

            “Do you have an issue you’d like to explain to me?” I snapped as my hair fell out around my face, breaking free from the clip again.

            “You should see your face,” Simon said, his words broken up by his laughter.

            “Well, I’m in the middle of a very important step. What’s the excuse for your face?”

            “Oo, ouch,” Simon said placing his hand over his heart as if he had been impaled. “Come on, Kate. It can’t be that hard.”

            “Oh, yeah?” I dropped my hands to my hips. “Then you do it.” In one fluid motion, I pulled out the clip that was still hanging loosely in my hair and tossed it to him. Simon placed my hoodie on the ground and pushed up his sleeves. Rolling my eyes, I spun on my toes, causing my curls to fan out around me.

            “Challenge accepted,” he said, and I couldn’t help but smile.

In the next moment, I felt his hands circle around my hair. I stifled a giggle because I knew from that one step, he was never going to figure it out. Five minutes later, I was bent over laughing my hair still wild and free while Simon declared loudly that it would be easier to take a trek through a jungle filled with ravenous swamp monsters than tame “that,” he said pointing at my head, with “this.” He had chunked the clip back into my hands mumbling about finding an industrial sized clip for what he kept referring to as ‘round two.’  I was still gasping for breath when Simon grabbed my hand and tugged me toward a new row of books. Glancing over my shoulder, I shuddered as the clerk rounded the corner to our aisle, hell blazing in his eyes.

Silas. His name felt like a siren inmy mind, causing a shiver to race down my spine. He had shaggy blonde hair in a cut that was meant to look effortlessly messy, but Silas didn’t do effortless. Each strand was meticulously shaped and placed, secured through an aggressive, albeit masterful, use of gel. It wasn’t just his hair—though the need for that level of control was unsettling on its own. It was the way he moved, lurking around the corner of one of the bookcases like the predators on National Geographic, stalking through the store as he reshelved books, and snapping at anyone who touched a book with anything less than divine reverence. His every movement made my skin crawl.

My watch buzzed, and I looked down. “Running late. Don’t leave.” No kidding, I thought moving down the aisle. Five minutes later Simon strolled down the aisle towards me. His gait was smooth and maddeningly unhurried.

            “You know I don’t like being here without you,” I said being sure to keep my voice low.

            “Oh, come on. Be a little independent,” he said, “So, it took me a little longer than I expected.”

            “What did? Traveling here by foot from Antarctica. Because I am pretty sure, I could have gone there and back twice in the time I have been waiting for you.” I hadn’t meant to but the final two words had come out clipped, angry.

            Simon sighed as though I was the one who had kept him waiting. “Kate, can you be quiet for like two minutes?”

            “Me?” My whisper came out sharp, squeezed between clenched teeth. “I have been silent for the last hour. Silas has practically been stalking me, and you have the nerve to-”

My words were cut short as Simon held up his hand, revealing a delicate charm bracelet. Each link shimmered, and four tiny charms hung from it catching the sunlight and causing it to bounce around us.

            “See. That’s what being quiet gets you,” he said as he opened my hand and dropped the bracelet into it.

I couldn’t find any words. It was stunning. The metal was smooth as I ran my finger across the links. Each tiny charm was vibrant and unique: a pink flamingo poised on one leg, a green heart shaped leaf, a blue cresting wave, and an apple that had a tiny, pink worm bursting from its side. I stood there holding the bracelet, tracing each charm, feeling the weight of it in my hands.

            “Well?” Simon prompted.

            “It’s um-”

            “Listen, there were, like, forty pages of charm options, so I just told her to surprise me.”

Pulling my eyes from the bracelet I looked up. Simon was staring at me, a triumphant smile plastered across his face.

            “Oh, come on. You can pick out different ones later. Just tell me you love it. I know you do,” he said before I could find my voice.

Then it hit me—the feelings, the answer.

            “Simon, it’s silver.”