One Book Lighter

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire and a chill nipped at my skin. It was mid-autumn, I had overslept a few minutes leaving only enough time to change, brush my teeth and comb out the rough knots threaded through my hair by my restless night. I had tossed and turned, my nerves set on edge as I imagined every possible way the day could go. In my rush I tripped over one of my regrettably placed pumpkins sending me stumbling down the front steps, not to be deterred, I gathered my things off the ground and hurried to my car.

Today was the day. The day I'd been waiting for for what now seemed like a lifetime. I checked the back seat once more to make sure I had put the books in the car. My first book signing. I had been excitedly awaiting for my book to be released, now that it had been, I was both fearful and eager to hear the response of my readers, if there even were any. As I started the engine and pulled out of the driveway I fretted for the millionth time upon the idea of whether or not I had done enough marketing. I had had some luck with the pre-sales but to say if that was or wasn't dumb luck was anyone's inquiry.

The drive was both too long and too short. My heart beat so quickly with nervousness and excitement I found it difficult to distinguish the feelings. It dropped however, as I rounded the corner and saw the sight of a nearly empty parking lot. The black pavement marked with bold yellow stripes only had a handful of cars sporadically placed upon it. I checked my watch once again and was slightly disappointed to find that I was right on time. Were there really this few people to come?

I parked, gathered my things and locked the car with a face set with determination. I had weathered setbacks before, what harm could a forgotten book signing truly have on my ego?

The bookshop was warm. Quiet except for the sound of a coffee grinder rittling in the cafe. An almost quiet that did in fact, have a affect on my ego. When I had pictured this day, the small shop was overflowing with readers who addictively read my story, fell in love with the characters, had traveled far to just have a signed copy. But the only reader I saw was a small frail woman with wrinkles set deep into her brow and glasses turning her eyes into the size of golf balls. Instead of greeting me as the author of a book she had enjoyed, she shuffled away down the aisle secluding herself in the infamous mystery section. Ah the mystery section, I had spent many hours there, conducing the perfect plot with twists and turns, love and betrayal. But what had that mattered, it was obvious no one had read it, evident by the emptiness of the store who's purpose was seemingly only to mocked me. Had I really been this foolish, this delusional, to think I'd grow a following this quickly? I sighed, setting up only a arms full of copies of my book on the somewhat dusty table I knew had been set up for this day. The clerk approached, he was a small man, apparently doomed to wear the same navy button down sweater everyday. His hair never really did lay right and he had a slight twinge of a cheap cologne that lurked after him wherever he went. He was kind that day, kind like he always was. He offered to help me set up, but I smiled brightly declining his offer. I told him I wouldn't be needing to set much up, seeing the gigantic crowd of people. I made a joke of it, but truth be told there was a slight bitterness tucked away beneath my chirpy demeanor. We talked for a few minutes, nothing to pull us away really. Besides the old women perusing over Sherlock's adventures, the store was empty. We spoke of the weather, the clerk's sister who I had grown a fondness for. She shared my love of mystery and on more than one occasion we had bumped into one another in the aisles. But that was really all. Friendly chit chat to pass the time. We eventually said our temporary farewells and he left to rummage through a new box of donation books with nothing but scotch tape and gum to hold them together. I subsided any and all excitement I had held for the day, slumping into the chair behind the desk and pulling out my phone. I scrolled through Instagram, the colorful posts of my grade school friends and of my favorite authors. Their posts however, happened to put a sour taste in my mouth with their fan art and followers. I hadn't realized I had slipped into the territory of bitterness untill I liked, then unliked a post from an author I had always admired. I paused, putting down my phone and sighing. Was I really this much of a sour loser? And yes, I was a loser, because I had lost my pride and whatever confidence I had had in my writing. I picked the up one of my copies and examined it skeptically. I had done this a thousand times since I had first received the box of printed copies, but the more I stared at it the stranger the thing looked and felt in my hand. I opened it, reading over the first few chapters even though I had practically memorized them. My phone buzzed beside me, I lazily turned my attention to it to see a new pinterest board I supposedly might be interested in. I ignored it, but what did catch my attention was the time. There was only another twenty minutes of the scheduled book signing and not a single person had approached me. Seriously doubting the chances of a flood of people rushing the store, I unenthusiastically began cleaning up the books. As I did I could feel the embarrassment begin to grow within me. This really had all just been one foolish endeavor. With my books packed neatly back into their box and a new attitude on life, though perhaps not a good one, I headed for the door.

"Hey!" The clerk called for my attention trotting up behind me. I turned, brilliant fake smile plastered to my face like gum to a table.

"You leaving already?" He asked taking some books off the top of the box, lightening the weight.

"Yeah, I don't think anyone's going to show." I admitted, but upon hearing how pathetic it sounded I added, "I also have to get home to my cats." I sighed, today was not a win for me, with events or choice of words.

"Ah, well, I think you might have one customer." He pointed to the mystery section, the frail woman sat in the middle of the aisle, legs crossed, travel bag sized purse slumped next to her. But what surprised me most was what she appeared to be reading. A thick book in her hands, the dark purple glint I knew too well illuminated off the cover.

"Is that...?" I asked though I already knew the answer. "I'll be right back." I decided, setting the box down on the table. I didn't know why, but seeing the little woman reading my book, my words, seemed to make me rather happy. After the day of let downs, that in hind sight I most likely should have seen coming, I felt I needed a win, no matter how small or wrinkled.

"Hello Miss?" I asked.

The woman held up one long, bony finger, not even taking the time to look up at me.

"Oh, okay..." My voice was rather small and apologetic, I hadn't taken into consideration that I might be coming off as rude by approaching her while she read. With her finger still held up in a shushing manor, she licked her other finger and turned the page. A new chapter in fact, I leaned over examining which it was. I smiled, knowing it's contents and the twist that played on the emotions of the main character. A rather clever surprise if I do say so myself. The woman snapped her eyes up to mine, lowering her finger.

"Yes?" Her tone was incredulous and obviously annoyed by my interruption but I only smiled sweetly. "Are you enjoying it?"

"I was." She grumbled but again, that only made me smile more.

"Oh I'm so glad. You know, that next chapter is one of my favorites. I had the hardest time writing it but I think I achieved my goal."

The woman frowned, "You wrote this?"

"Yes, in fact I'm here for a book signing. If you intend on buying it I'd be more than happy to sign it for you."

The woman only eyed me suspiciously, she flipped to the back of the book to where my picture was printed. She held it up, her eyes flicking back and forth. "Why... Yes, I think you did write this." She decided.

At this I couldn't help but laugh, "Well I hope I wrote it, or else we've both been lied to. Would you like me to sign it?"

"I would indeed!" She said struggling to a shaky stand. We made our way to the table, a goofy grin pinned on my face. I asked her name so I could make a special signature just for her. I took my time making sure everything line was perfect, clean while keeping the effortless appearance. I handed it back to her, beaming. The clerk leaned on the counter by the register, he gave me a warm smile showing two thumbs up.

It wasn't the day I was hoping for, it wasn't even in the slightest the day I had planned. If you told me at the beginning of that morning that I'd only have gotten one book signed and a thumbs up by the clerk, who I now know as my husband, I would have been horrified. But in all honesty, though I left that bookstore with a box only one book lighter, I had a grin on my face that could have taken me to the heavens.