Ch. 2

Chapter 2.

            Books spill out from the trunk of my car onto the pavement as if jumping to their deaths after the torment of being locked up in ninety degree weather. Covers flipped open, pages press into the depressions of dried up mud puddles, failing to find a drop of cool respite in the heat wave. I groan and stoop over the curb to pack them back into crumbling cardboard boxes.
Louann comes jogging out of the dusty, vintage general store we had invested in mere months ago, “Jesus christ, Lea, no one is going to want to purchase books in this condition.”

I examine a dog eared calculus textbook, glance at her, and throw it haphazardly into the pile. “No one was about to purchase underlined, creased college texts anyway. Used bookstore or no, we’ll need a lot more variety than this before we’re even able to draw in a single customer.”

Louann’s face was creased with years of judgment. At thirty years of age, no woman should look as worry worn as she did. It’s true that joy crimped her face with lines in all the areas unmarred by anxiety, but the wrinkles revealed the vast contrast in her day to day emotions, an observation that always affected me. Was it more of a hindrance or an advantage to experience such a wide range of intense emotions?

Note to Self

Don't stop writing. Never stop writing. Write write write. Writey writey write.
He may not want the weight of your words, but you need not give them to anyone - just get them out. Lessen the burden.