Clearing out the bookstore took some time. All I needed to do was get rid of the books but it was no easy task. I took out each book and took pictures one by one. I needed to check their conditions so that I could post them on a bartering website. I had no idea we had so many books in the store. Countless thoughts, stories, and studies were piled up on every shelf. I thought of the authors I’d never had a chance to meet. Suddenly they seemed very far from me, a thought that hadn’t occurred to me before. I used to think that they were close. As close as soaps or towels, easily within reach. But, in fact, no, they were in a whole other world. Maybe forever out of my reach.
“Hey.”
I heard a voice over my shoulder. My heart froze at that one word, as if someone had just splashed cold water on me. It was Dora.
“Just swinging by. That’s cool, right?”
“Probably. Actually, it always is,” I corrected myself. “It’s rare to hear a customer asking for permission to visit, unless it’s at a popular restaurant that requires a reservation, I guess . . . which this is clearly not.”
I realized I had just ended up calling my bookstore unpopular. Dora burst out laughing for some reason. It was the kind of laugh that sounded like countless ice crystals showering down onto the ground. Dora skimmed through the books, a smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“Did this shop just open? The books are all over the place.”
“Actually, I’m preparing to close it down. Though ‘preparing’ seems like an odd word to use when you’re closing down a shop.”
“Too bad. I missed my chance to become a regular.”
Dora didn’t talk much at first. She did other things instead, like puffing out her cheeks after saying something, then making a pfff sound with a long deep breath. Or tapping the ground with the toe of her sneaker three times. Then, as if she had been working up the nerve for it, she asked a question.
“Is it true that you don’t feel anything?” It was the same question Gon had asked.
“Not exactly, but according to general standards, yes, probably.”
“Interesting. I thought those kinds of people were only in charity documentaries for fund-raising. Oh, sorry . . . I shouldn’t have said it this way.”
“That’s okay, I don’t mind.”
Dora drew in a sharp breath. “You know how you asked me why I run? I feel bad for venting to you then. I came here to apologize. It’s just that you were the first person to ask me that question besides my parents.”
“Oh.”
“So I want to ask you something too, just out of curiosity. What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I couldn’t come up with an answer for a while. If I remembered correctly, that was the first time I’d been asked that question. So I just said truthfully, “I don’t know. Because no one has asked me that before.”
“Do you need someone to ask you that to know? Haven’t you ever thought about it?”
“It’s a hard question for me.” I hesitated. But instead of pushing me to elaborate, Dora found something we shared in common.
“Same here. Right now my dream has kinda evaporated. My parents are so against running, so . . . It’s sad that we share that in common.”
Dora kept bending and stretching her knees. She couldn’t stay still, as if she had an itch for running. Her uniform skirt fluttered. I looked away and got back to organizing the books.
“You handle them so carefully. You really love books, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I’m bidding them farewell.”
Dora puffed out her cheeks with another pfff. “Books aren’t my thing. Words are no fun. They just sit there, embedded. I prefer things that move.”
Dora swiftly slid her fingers along the shelved books. Pitter-patter. It sounded like rain dripping.
“Old books seem all right, though. They have a richer scent that’s more alive. Like how autumn leaves smell.” Dora grinned at her own words. Then, with a quick “See ya,” she left before I could reply.
55
I was heading back home after school. It was a long sunny afternoon. The air was cold and the sun looked down on the earth from a faraway distance. No, maybe I was wrong. Maybe the sun was scorching and the sweltering heat was unbearable. I strolled along the gray school fence and was about to turn a corner. There came a gush of wind. It was a strong blow, coming out of nowhere. Tree branches shook violently, letting their leaves quiver.
If my ears were working correctly, the sound wasn’t from the wind shaking the trees. It was the sound of waves. In a second, leaves of every color were scattered on the ground. It was still high summer, on a sunny day, but for some reason there were fallen leaves everywhere in sight. Orange and yellow leaves cupped their hands toward the sky.