Meet Me At The Bookstore

I hit snooze. Not once, but several times before the light come from my window is too bright to ignore. What I rather do is tuck myself tighter in my bedsheets and feel the chill of the air conditioning. I can fake a cozy Fall breeze and have excuses to wear my favorite sweatshirt. I’m tired of the heat.

The background of the TV plays in the background as I groggily make my way to make a cup of coffee. I toast the only two toaster waffles left in my freezer and clean the cluttered table from the night before. Crumpled pieces of paper, sprawled across the tablecloth with a half-empty wine bottle that aided in thoughts I tried to write down. 

I wanted to remember every detail of the reoccurring dream I kept having. Isn’t there a psychological message behind this? I’ve done countless google searches, with all similar results. 

“What does it mean to dream of someone I’ve never met?” Apparently, it is impossible to forge an image of someone you have not seen before. But I have no recollection of seeing this man. I would’ve known if I have. 

As the coffee touches my lips and makes its way through my system, I can bring some clarity into my Saturday. I don’t decide to scroll through my phone this morning. Instead, the movie that is on catches my attention. I can count how many times I’ve watched You’ve Got Mail. The opening scene immediately brings a warm smile. It’s autumn in NYC, “Dreams” by the Cranberries amplifies the romantic bliss shared between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. He makes a remark of how he would rather send her a bouquet of pencils rather than flowers. They know everything about each other without knowing who they are.

I notice there is a torn notebook page I forgot to clear off the table. 

He had soft brown hair, curly. Long enough to touch his ears.

Hazel eyes, an inviting gaze.

He smiles like he has seen me before.

He hugs me as if I felt it before.

There is one more sentence.

He stands in an unfamiliar cafe setting and sits there waiting for me as he does in every dream.

I don’t know whether to laugh at the coincidence or continue to get frustrated at the fact that this keeps happening. Is it a premonition? Or a scenario that my hopeless romanticism would love to cling onto? I know that sitting here won’t help. This would be another day off wasted on indulging in scenarios and overthinking. 

I receive a text from Evie, my best friend from high school who has endured my rants on ex’s, new lovers, over countless take-out meals. She asks if I’d like to “get my ass outside and head over to Barnes & Noble” How can I say no to that? 

* * * * *

Today calls for something new to wear. I take the sundress out of my closet. It’s a-line, hugging me perfectly at my waist and flows over my lower body gracefully. A cross between a scarlet and terra-cotta, with a delicate white floral pattern. Perhaps a little too much to be browsing books, but appropriate to set the tone for the rest of my day. 

I take a look at the products I have lined up on my vanity. I can hear my mother telling me to ease back on the use of makeup. To some degree, I do agree with her. I have a tendency to disguise my features, rather than enhance what is already there. Today I take her advice and start with a tinted moisturizer. I apply one eyeshadow color, a coat of mascara, blush to highlight my full cheeks and peach-colored lipstick. My reflection looks fresh and captures the beginning of August that I’ve finally entered. It’s the last month of summer, the sticky heat, and the invites of numerous weddings. What follows will be the peace and comfort that Autumn will bring.

I leave my apartment with time to spare and take the bus to meet with Evie in Park Slope. There are more people than usual around this time.

 More couples than usual as well. 

Teens and adults both have that look in their eyes. Interlocked fingers, childlike grins, quiet giggles, and cheek kisses to match. It’s summer love mixed in with the illusion of the honeymoon phase. 

Imagine if he happened to be on this bus?

Before I can lose myself in yet another scenario, I almost miss my stop. I awkwardly move past these couples and thank the bus driver. Evie is at the end of 1st street, waving to me as I meet up with her down the block. 

“Wow. I had to bribe you with book shopping to look this stunning?”

That is only slightly true.

“I mean… yeah pretty much.” She shakes her head and starts heading in the direction of Barnes and Noble. Now before I say this isn’t what we usually do on the weekends, that would be also slightly true. We go out to eat, we enjoy a couple of mimosas at bottomless brunch. But we also go book shopping two out of the four weekends a month. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t have to work today.” Evie usually has a weekend shift, but I’m convinced she told her manager it was an “emergency.”

“I did but when I knew you would be able to hang out today, I called out. You’re usually cooped up in your apartment reading manuscripts.” 

My recent employment at the publishing house has been nothing short of exhausting. I read over 1,000 pages, making edits and notes to newcomer writers. It isn’t glamorous, but it is a step in the direction I want to be in. An editor for future magazines and/or publications. 

“Is that why you didn’t pick up the one last night?”, she adds.

I knew the look on my face gave it away. 

“Not exactly…”, I answer.

Before I go on to explain, she already knows the answer.

“No, not this AGAIN.” 

It wouldn’t be the first time I ignored Evie’s phone call over this. It started as a harmless conversation about a “silly dream” I had a few times. I would make a few jokes, poking at my desire to understand what this all meant. Or how crazy it would be if I saw him one day, walking around this very neighborhood. I kept bringing it up, and each time I would hope Evie have an insight or a new perspective. When I noticed I have talked about this too often, I sought to find my own conclusion. 

I wrote down the dream every time it happened. Whatever details I could remember. What changed, what didn’t. If I recognized an object, a scenery, or a feature so distinct. But it all seems the same. Last night, I went down a spiral of trying to pin down the features of every man I could remember. Whether it was a former ex, someone at the grocery store, or any man I could’ve bumped into at work. I wanted to put an end to this fantasy. That it was just my mind looking for a chapter I wish began, where I meet a stranger and fall in love instantly. I wanted it to be someone I knew. Then I would know it’s all in my head and not far from a possibility. 

“I’m just trying to find a way to convince myself this is a result of consuming too much romantic genre material. Not anything else.”

She tries to stifle a chuckle, rolling her eyes. “You and I both know this is to convince yourself that this CAN be real.” 

I deny it immediately. 

“Realistically, this is probably just my self conscious manifesting-“

She stops me mid-sentence. 

“Cut the psychology crap. You’re in love with an imaginary man.” 

“I am not in love with a-“

She waves her hand over my face and the other to open the door for me.

“That’s all for the subject manner today. Now put this outfit to good use.”

At least here there will be a distraction. There will be no people watching, or an attempt to see a face that is recognizable. We make our way to Evie’s favorite section, which is non-fiction. The stories of which are real and tangible. Right up her alley. 

“By the way, my co-worker Aiden might be here today. Apparently, I missed an urgent sales meeting and my boss demanded he comes to find me today and fill me in.” How Evie manages to keep her job as publicist assistant for Penguin Random House amazes me. But as many excuses, as she may have used, she’s brought in numerous newcomer authors that have made exceptional sales.

We browse through the aisles with her before I see her settled in the corner, reading the first few pages of the book in her hand. I decide to make my way over to the Fiction section and take a peek at both familiar and unfamiliar titles. One Day. How To Stop Time. Oh, this one I still have yet to read. 

The spine sticks out of the shelf, waiting to be picked up. This title sounds familiar, it’s also a movie I never got around to see. I love the idea between crossing romance and sci-fi-related themes together. It brings you to an unworldly place, where the concept of how these people meet is impossible. But you still believe because, well… you want to.

Before I can get read further into the plot, Evie comes up behind me.

“C’mon, Aiden’s here. Let me introduce you!” 

I hold the book in my hand and follow Evie down to the cafe. I have met a few of her coworkers before. Some, nonchalant and humble as they express how much they love their work. Others, brooding and bragging how much their salary should be exponentially higher. 

She walks over to the table where he sits. Before my focus shifts on where she lands, he rises from his seat to give her a hug. His body shifts in my direction and suddenly… I freeze. 

It’s him.

The figure that stands a few feet away from me makes the same puzzled look. We don’t know whether to exchange a hello or hold our gaze longer. 

“Do I know you?”