I decided to continue with the story from yesterday, because I was kinda diggin the characters.
Of course I couldn’t get Jamie out of my head for the rest of the day and it didn’t help that he said he was coming by later that night. Love. Love? What did he mean by that? Was I reading too far into it? This put me off my A game, which didn’t take much. By eight p.m. I was glad Jamie hadn’t stopped by yet. But, at eleven, when we were closing down, I was a little worried that he hadn’t. That wasn't normally like him.
“Hey Bart.” I yelled into the kitchen.
“What up Cat?”
I rolled my eyes, he thought it was hilarious to call me this, especially since I owned two cats.
“You heard from Jamie tonight.” Bart was co-owner and night cook at Frenchy’s and Jamie’s best friend. I knew he’d know.
“Yeah, he said he had something to take care of. Why? You expecting him?”
“Well, nah. Not really.” I tried to play it cool. “He just mentioned this morning he might stop by is all.”
“Well, if he said he’d stop by, he will. He’s good on his word.” Bart finished by winking at me. The same familiar wink Jamie was always shooting my way. I could feel my face turn red.
“Thanks, Bart.” I finished with my drawer and clocked out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He probably just forgot, I told myself as I walked out of the restaurant. It had stopped raining and I breathed in deep the smell of the city after a rainfall, rejuvenating. As I looked up, there he was, legs crossed leaning against his car with a cigarette in his hand.
“What’s up, sketch ball?” I said. “You missed dinner.”
“Yeah I know. I had something to take care of.”
I peaked my eyebrows at him, but didn’t ask what. There was an awkward silence. “Welp,” I said, “see you later.” I turned to walk away.
He stepped in front of me , “Can I show you something?”
“I don’t know Jamie. It’s been a long day.” I wasn’t lying, it had been a long day. “ I need a shower and -.”
“You look good to me,” he said grabbing my hand and pulling me over to the passenger door. He opened the door for me, “Well, aren’t you gonna get in?”
I shook my head at him and got in. He shut the door behind me.
The old engine in his car rumbled to a slow start. He shoved it into gear and we took off towards the freeway in silence. The only noise was the churning of the engine and the beating of my heart. How well do I know Jamie? Did I just get in the car with a complete stranger?
“Um, so where we going?” I asked feeling the silence pressing down on me.
“You’ll see.”
“Mr. Elusive, huh?”
“It’ll explain why I skipped out on dinner tonight.”
“Oh, so this is where you were?”
“Not exactly.”
He reached into the back seat with such ease. The car glided along seamlessly. “This is where I was.”
He handed me “A book?”
It was olive green in color, the edges worn and faded, but seemingly well kept for its age. Jane Eyre, the cover read by Currer Bell. The binding creaked as I opened the page, and I saw that it was inscripted. “ To My dear friend Emily . I hope you enjoy this as much as I have. I find it oddly reflective of my own life. Charlotte.”
I looked up at him for meaning as we pulled into a gravel parking lot. “This is where I live,” is all he said.
I followed him through the brick entryway and up three flights of stairs to the top level. He unlocked the door and held it open for me. I carried the olive book pressed firmly against my chest.
His apartment was filled wall to wall, ceiling to ceiling with books. Everywhere I turned, covering the walls, stacked in front of the couch topped with a flat piece of wood as a coffee table, in the bare front kitchen cabinets where dishes should be, in the closets.
My mouth dropped uncontrollably and he started to laugh. He had been watching me the entire time as I walked through his apartment in silence and awe.
I shut my mouth, “Where you gonna put this one?”
He grabbed the book from my hand and replaced it with a beer, which he had grabbed while I was meandering mesmerized throughout his apartment, if you could call it that, an apartment. I still had not seen the bed, not that I was looking.
He sat down on the couch and I followed. “This one is special,” he said. “You saw the inscripture, right.”
I nodded my head.
“Well, let’s test your knowledge of literature, Miss professional journalist.”
“I wouldn’t call what I do professional.”
“You’ve heard of Jane Eyre, correct?” I rolled my eyes at him. “Alright, Alright,” he laughed, “let’s try something a bit harder. Have you heard of Charlotte Bronte?” I rolled my eyes at him again. “Just go with it, you know that Charlotte Bronte is the famous author who wrote Jane Eyre, everyone knows that, right?” I shook my head, yes. “But then why does the cover say, Currer Bell?”
Then it clicked. Currer Bell was Charlotte Bronte’s pen name. My eyes widen as I looked at Jamie, “But. Why?”
Jamie nodded his head at me. “You got it Charlotte gave to her friend, as a gift, the book she herself recently published. What’s more is this was published as an autobiography by Currer Bell.”
“How did you . . .?”
“It’s not worth much,” he said putting the book down on the makeshift coffee table. “I just like it.”
I was still a little stunned. “All of these?”
“No,” he laughed, “Just some are inscribed. Most of them aren’t. Some of them are rare prints. Some of them are just plain old. Others I just liked, either the way they look or felt in my hand, or the way they smell. I have a hard time not buying a book when I see one. It’s an obsession.”
“I’d say,” I blurted. My face immediately turned red. “Oh I’m sorry, Jamie. I didn’t mean anything by that.”
He was unphased. “Don’t worry about it. I know it’s out of control. I mean I don’t have a single dish in my kitchen cabinets. I don’t own one. I don’t want to, but if I did there’d be nowhere to put it. It drives my mom crazy, but I can’t help it. I just love books. I always have.”
Did Jamie actually just open up to me? Mr. Elusive Mysterious Jamie? And did he really just mention his mom? As far as I had been concerned Jamie was a mute orphan from Seattle that disliked ketchup. What a weirdo. I took a long sip of my beer and waited for him to say more.
But he didn’t, so I opened to the beginning and began to read. Jane Eyre had been my favorite book in high school. I lived by it. My copy was ripped, tattered, stained, smudged, missing pages, used.
I began to read, “ There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed,
In the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so somber and a ran so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question . . .
At some point Jamie took over. And I sat on the couch listening to his voice read to me Jane Eyre like I had never heard it before. Who was this guy?
No comments:
Post a Comment