There are several ways to tell it’s
officially spring: the crocuses peeking out of the ground, the leaves growing
back on the trees, and the flurry of engagements of people who have never been
anything more than acquaintances to me.
Somehow, I end up clicking through dozens
of Facebook photos of rings, hundreds of congratulatory messages…and I feel
increasingly pathetic with every wasted minute of envying others’ happiness,
but once I start, I don’t know how to stop.
Luckily, graduation is just three weeks
away. I have no idea where this new season of life will take me, but Tess’
roommate is graduating too and moving back with her family, so I’ll be taking
her place once I sign away my little box of a dorm room. I’ve always preferred
to live alone, but I can’t afford a full month’s rent by myself, and Tess is
the only logical roommate choice. Just one step closer to growing up, however
small the step may be.
At Book Nook today I helped a rare male
customer who was looking for a gift for his girlfriend’s birthday. He proved to
be the most difficult customer I’ve helped yet. It wasn’t him that was the problem – he was polite, cordial, smiled a lot – it
was the fact that the girlfriend, whoever she is, had literary interests so
similar to my own; it was like helping Jared shop for a gift. My heart
splintered when he purchased My Sister’s
Keeper, another one of my favorites. It was all I could do to fight back
tears as I handed back his change.
“Hey, Weepy,” interrupts Eryn. I swear that
woman has a gift for speaking up at all the wrong moments. “It’s all right,
really. We only sold one copy of Twilight today!”
I laugh, in spite of myself. “Well thank
God for that. It’s just so hard, you know? All those young minds being corrupted
by poorly-written literature –”
“At least it wasn’t Fifty Shades of Grey,” pipes Morgan, and we both turn around,
shocked: it’s the most I’ve heard her say since I started working here.
“Hey now,” Eryn retorts. “At least
Christian Grey is a real man who doesn’t sparkle,
for goodness sake.”
“There ought to be to parental advisory
warnings on some of these shelves,” Morgan continues. I don’t know what’s more
surprising: Morgan actually talking,
or instigating a debate with Eryn. It’s not that I’m afraid of her, but Eryn
definitely comes across as someone who doesn’t believe in censoring her
opinions, no matter what the context. Personally I’d rather steer clear of her
than challenge her.
“I’ll admit they’re not the most well-written
books I’ve ever read,” replies Eryn, “But I give props to the author for trying
to normalize taboo –”
“You mean sadomasochistic abuse.”
“It’s not abuse if she wants it!”
I can’t believe I’m hearing this. The only
other time I can remember wanting to crawl beneath the floor boards and
hibernate was when I fell asleep watching a movie with Jared, and woke up to
find I’d drooled all over his sleeve.
“What do you think, Anna-Kate?”
I pretend I’m so immersed in the act of
stapling receipts: anything to avoid eye contact with Eryn. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Morgan seems to think the S&M
activity in Fifty Shades of Grey is
misogynistic and abusive; I say whatever floats your boat is fine as long as
everyone’s cool with it. What do YOU think?”
My throat feels lined with sandpaper. “I
haven’t read that book, so I really can’t say.”
This seems to be the answer Eryn expected
to hear. “Well, in my experience –”
“No one wants to hear about your
experiences, Eryn.” Dang, where is Morgan’s fire coming from all of a sudden?
She must only speak when she’s really irritated about something.
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot I was speaking
to virgin ears.” She says virgin like it’s a dirty word, too
scandalous even for someone with Eryn’s brazenness. Her hoop earrings, so large
I can probably fit my hand through them, clang as she shakes her head; a move
that seems to summarize the personality I’ve come to expect from her.
Turning to me again, she asks, “Do you
have a boyfriend, Anna-Kate?”
Because this workday just hasn’t been
awkward enough. “No,” I say, teeth clenched. “I don’t.”
“It’s a lot easier not to. It’s nice not
to be tied down, you know?”
Curiously, I turn to look at Morgan, whose
face now looks like mine did when I was helping that guy pick out a present for
his girlfriend. Eryn must have triggered something in her, as she’s retreated
back to her usual mouse-like self, and scurries back into the fiction section.
Interestingly, now that it’s over I’m almost
grateful for Eryn’s brashness today, for no other reason except to show me a
possible ally in my shy co-worker. I wonder if Morgan has always been quiet, or
if she’s harboring a secret devastation like I am. Maybe this is the gateway
for us to be friends.
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