Change is "Always" Easy

  It had taken a lot for me to be here this morning, sandwiched between tight, clausterphobic bookshelves. I loved books, but today they felt different. They didn't welcome me today. 

   I had decided I'd pay a visit to Browning's Books last night after my lonely dinner. I didn't have a title in mind - just à very specific genre. I had my mind set on it and I thought it would be easy. Just a normal trip to the bookstore, right? Except I wasn't expecting the absolute whirlwind Lady Life was content on tossing me through to get here. 

   On the short walk from my bed to my bathroom, I stubbed my toe twice. My hair was a mangled mess when I hopped into the shower, and it was only worse when I stepped out. No more conditioner. I was forced to wear a dingy grey t-shirt with a slowly growing hole by the bottom hem and tacky blue jeans - seeing as the rest of my wardrobe was unwashed and smelled like depression, as well as being spattered with whatever stray drops of food had accumulated there from my dinners.  

  I thought the worst of my luck was over when I had finally made it out of the house to walk to Browning's. It was a ten minute walk - how bad could it be? Not that bad, until the skin between my toes began to blister from the strange plastic strap of my dollar-store flip-flops. Because of course it would. 

  I felt the blisters on my feet with each step I took down the aisles, now. I mouthed the titles silently with my lips; *'101 Ways to Be the Best You'*; *'Self-Improvement: An Easy Guide'*. The last one made me chuckle under my breath. Easy, it said. Because change is always so easy. 

  The titles bored me, and as I browsed, I could feel the blisters on my feet. 'You should buy better quality shoes,' I told myself. That sounded like my mom. I hadn't talked to her in a while. As a matter of fact, I hadn't talked to anyone in a while. Excluding, of course, the obligated friendly check-out chatter that I was expected to engage in with each customer that came up to me at my job that paid me way too little. But those conversations mean nothing. You don't remember them. 

   That was why I was here today, wasn't it? I don't talk to anybody. And that's mostly because nobody talks to me. I'm too "cynical". I used to not care - so is the labor of life, right? "If you don't want to talk to me, fine. I don't care." 

  But now, nearly a year had passed and I was beginning to think that maybe I did care. Maybe I did, because I may not have been the best person in the past but now I was lonely. And being in isolation all the time leaves you with nobody to talk to but your own mind - and the mind can sometimes have such very cruel things to say. I needed to change. I needed to be a better person. I needed friends again. 

  "Lilah." A concerned voice came from somewhere to my left. It was Mr. Browning. He used to be a friend, too. He was my last one, but I had destroyed that last week. Or - was it two weeks ago?

  "Good morning, Mr. Browning." I responded, trying to be nice. A lighter tone. That was the best thing, right? 

  "I'm sure you, eh...remember our conversation?" He asked, and I closed my eyes. Yes, this friendship was still ruined. 

  "I do, Mr. Browning." Was my solemn reply, accompanied by the slow decline of my shoulders. "I apologize, still. I didn't mean to shout at your employee, I--" 

  "Brie was very upset that day. She was nothing but patient with you, and you outright screamed at her." 

  "Mr. Browning, I understand, but-" I tried to apologize again, but suddenly his hand was on my shoulder and I tensed. It felt strange. 

  "What's wrong, Lilah?" He asked. It was, again, unexpected. "I've known you since you were three. It's a small town. I practically watched you grow, and you've changed so much. You worry me, dear." 

  I think it was then that he noted what I was looking at. A grin cracked on his face, and he ran his fingers down the spine of some of the books. "Well, you've definitely changed. The Lilah I know would never read these cheap old things." 

  His tone was light and fun, but I couldn't bring mine to be. I already felt the tears brewing in the corners of my hazel eyes. "I don't know what else to do, Mr. Browning. I need help. I need help and I've driven everyone away from me. I like Brie, I do, and I don't know why I yelled at her. I don't know why I do anything, because all I ever do is shout. I shout at the people I love...and now they're gone." 

  "I'm not gone, Lilah." He assured me. It's funny how four words can just feel different, way down in your soul. I don't even think it was the way he said it, it was just his words that felt different. They sparked warmth. "I'm right here, and I see that you're hurting. You do need help. But you're not going to find it in these things." 

  "Where, then? Where will I find help?" I asked. He had just discredited my last hope, and even though I felt maybe a little better, I was feeling frustrated. 

  "Come with me," he beckoned, before stepping aside from the aisle. Curiously I followed, as he took me behind the counter to his office. He said not a single word as he began rummaging through a partially rusted tin file cabinet. Nothing was really filed, though, or labelled. For as tidy and organized his store was, this room was rather unkempt. It was different. 

   "You'll find it here," he bursted then, whipping a small book out from one of the messy drawers. He waved it in my direction. "It may not be the book you came looking for, and some may argue if it's even a book or not," he paused to laugh, "but it will help you, Lilah." 

   I took it and confusion struck me for more than a moment. "The...County's List of Mental Health Professionals?" I read, slowly and weary. 

   "Well, written like that it makes them sound scary. But they're not. They're just therapists." He smiled at me as he spoke. I felt the warmth in my soul from earlier return. It was so genuine. 

   "Therapists, huh? I need a therapist?" 

  "I don't think it would do you any harm." He responded. 

   "But...I don't understand. Therapists are for feelings, and- And analysis. Not for changing how you treat people." I argued. I don't think he was understanding my desires at the moment. 

   "But why do you treat people the way you do? Why do you yell and shout? You weren't like this last year, love. What have you lost that's made you this way, so self-kept and isolate?" 

  "Lost?" He still wasn't making any sense. "I haven't lost anything. I have a home and a job, I think my life is stable..I've just- I've lost a lot of friends.." 

   "You've lost yourself, Lilah." His expression softened. I could see the concern, but it wasn't like how others looked at me. It was pure. "You've spent so much time trying so hard to care about others, and you have completely neglected to care for yourself. And how can you be nice to anyone else when you can't even be nice to you?" 

   Now, he was beginning to make sense. 

   "These people will help Lilah be nice to Lilah. Those books out there, they won't do anything but point out all the bad things that need 'fixing'. The people in that book, though, they don't want to fix you. They want to heal you. Give one of them a call, please." 

   "I will, Mr. Browning." I was smiling now, just a little bit. It was still a major improvement from this morning, though. "Thank you." 

   "Thank yourself, for reaching out. You might not have been looking for the right thing, but the core value is that you were looking." He hugged me then, and it shocked me, but felt nice. It felt so good to finally be understood and accepted. There wasn't something wrong with me. 

  "You have a good day, sir," I added in response. I clutched the booklet close to my chest as I left when he nodded his head. The blisters still stung my toes, but I found that I didn't mind that much now. I finally felt better. 

   For the first time in a long time, I finally felt hopeful.