Your Love in Exchange

Welcome to one of the strangest stories you'll ever know. It is the strange love story of how two very unlikely parties, against all odds -- perhaps the greatest odds -- began before they became one.

Although it generally ends in the way you probably imagine, I can assure you it doesn't begin in the realm of any reasonable imagination -- yours or otherwise. I still question its reality even within mine.

So, without further ado…

It all began on one stuffy summer day.

I cruised the streets of a random, quaint suburban neighborhood, carefully perusing its concrete, its pavement, for my next. I had perfectly pictured what she would look like. What she always looked like. A look I was so drawn to for its similarity to that of a certain somewhat significant…female…of my past -- the original…somewhat significant female of my past…whose name, official or otherwise, I preferred not to ever say.

It didn't take long before my eyes found her and my mind decided. It would be her.

Her.

She was the one. She would be my next.

I always enjoyed this time before—sitting, watching, observing. Witnessing.

Witnessing her life. Her joy. Her freedom. Her peace.

But most intoxicating of all: Her utter oblivion.

In a way, I was the predictor of their future. I knew what their life would be—and what it wouldn’t be—just 24 hours later.

I, and only I, knew they were being watched... and what they were being watched for.

They had no idea. Absolutely no suspicion whatsoever. To them, today was just another day. Just another bundle of hours of their whole existence they had no reason to believe would be anything but long and full.

And I loved that.

I always played my invisible role well, as I camouflaged in the nearby scenery, ensuring only to see and not be seen—at least not by anyone who mattered. Certainly not by her—not by my choice.

Why, to anyone near, I was no more than the random community neighbor -- perhaps a man walking his dog or one casually headed to the grocery store. I was a version of everybody and nobody at the same time.

Invisible.

Exactly like it needed to be. Exactly as it had to be.

Like now. I drove my unassuming grey Toyota Camry a good distance behind, far enough and at a speed slow enough to keep an eye on her at all times but not so slow to appear suspicious.

Even though she wasn’t jogging, barely more than a casual stroll, her long, jet-black hair still bounced with each step. Her soft-blue sweater hugged her petite frame, as her fitted jeans moved steadily below.

Sitting, watching, observing.

Witnessing.

I maintained my distance for the rest of her walk, until she led us to the neighborhood bookstore. After she walked in, I parked and went in shortly after.

Once inside, it didn’t take long to find the long black hair. She was in the self-help section, intently eyeing books about recognizing and understanding different types of people.

After positioning myself in the aisle over and keeping her in my peripheral, I pretended very hard to otherwise seem interested in another area of that section, one containing books that focus on healing your inner child. If I weren’t so keenly trying to keep her constantly in my view, I definitely would have rolled my eyes.

Nonetheless, it apparently didn’t take much more for that constant view to be interrupted.

“Excuse me,” this wrinkly woman showered full of grey rudely disrupted my stream of consciousness just a few moments later. “Do you know if they have Erling Kagge’s books here?”

My face contorted in her direction as if it smelled trout that'd been rotting in an alley trashcan for weeks in the dead of summer. She was clearly taken aback.

“What?” I asked. 

“Uhh… I was just wondering… if you happen to know if this store carries Erling Kagge’s books?”

“…Umm, do I look like I work here?” I snarked.

“Oh, sorry. I just thought… Okay, never mind,” she said and quickly moved along.

I actually didn’t mean to be snarky, but why would she think I would know if this Erling…whoever…had books in that store? Or whether any particular author had books in that store, for that matter? Was there something about the way I appeared that made her think I must be an employee there? How rude of her to assume. Hell, I wasn't even a real customer. I was there for one thing and one thing only. Shopping for something entirely different than books. Shopping for… Her.

Her.

I returned my sight to the aisle over, only to find nothing but the countless cardboard jackets, their collective tens of thousands of pages, and the slabs of wood holding it all up.

She was gone.

Damn that old lady.

My eyes quickly, frantically traveled near and far, encountering everything and everyone but her.

Panic set in, and I got ready to run and see if she’d gone outside. I kneeled to tie my pesky shoelaces that clearly seemed more comfortable untied. But right before I could reach them, a voice rang out behind me.

“That’s a really good one,” it said.

I turned and looked up. It was her.

Her.

I froze, except for an eyebrow that raised and my lips which slightly parted. I then realized the one direction I hadn’t looked for her just a second before was directly behind me.

Her head motioned towards the lower shelf in front of me.

“It Didn’t Start With You, by Mark Wolynn? I’m sorry, I just happened to notice you eyeing it and thought I’d mention it’s a really good read. I hope that isn’t…creepy?” she smiled nervously. “I just love those kinds of books.”

I peered more intently at the shelf in question.

Still had no clue which book she was talking about.

But I acted like I did.

“Oh, no,” I said and stood up, unintentionally leaving my shoes untied. “You aren’t being creepy. Yeah, thanks. I might check it out.”

“You should,” she more confidently smiled before her eyes skimmed my white T-shirt while her lips softly mouthed the black text laid across my chest:

Not peopling today.

Her eyes lit up as she laughed. “I need that shirt,” she said. “I have those days all the time.”

I couldn’t tell.

“Oh. Wait,” she said. “Am I…I guess I’m part of the ‘peopling’ you’re not trying to do today, right? Sorry, sorry, I’ll let you get back to i—”

“You can have it if you want!” I blurted out before even thinking.

Her eyebrow slightly raised. “What?”

“Uhh,” I looked down. “My shirt. You can have it… If you want. I—I can always get another one.”

Her brow went up a little higher as we both stood in too long of an awkward silence. And then it was broken with more of her full laughter.

“You’re funny,” she said, although I still hadn’t smiled yet, which she soon noticed. “Oh. Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean… Like I said, I can always get another one.”

I honestly wasn’t sure why I was offering. This definitely wasn’t like me. Maybe I’d thought it would be extra hot if she were wearing it, when.…. …

Anywho, so I waited for her to inevitably be totally creeped out, which always happened in interactions like this with them. And then I could get back to my original plan.

But…

She wasn’t.

Instead, she smiled. “Well, that’s really sweet,” she said, “And thoughtful. But I couldn’t do that. That’s your shirt. But it's cool, I like it. Maybe I’ll get one for myself, one day. One… In my size,” her head tilted towards me and her lips slightly curled upward.

“Oh, yeah…” I’d forgotten I was twice, maybe three times, hers.

“But really, seriously,” she leaned forward and placed her delicate hand on my arm. It felt so soft, and so… Warm. “Thank you for offering.” She then paused for a moment. “I’m Jeanie, by the way,” she finally said and extended that same tiny hand.

By probably no more than habit, I first hesitated. But she kept hers out as if I hadn’t.

“Jonathan,” I said, finally extending mine that was larger but not much hairier.

“Hey, Jonathan,” she smiled nicely again. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Uhh, you, too,” I tried to smile, but my lips probably ended up looking more like a diagonal than an arc.

Minutes later, as she continued her small talk, I noticed a woman and young boy nearby. Their voices and conversation very quickly overtook Jeanie’s.

“Now, where is this book she wanted you to get?” the woman asked the boy.

“I don’t know,” he softly responded, his head bowed.

“‘You don’t know’? What do you mean you don’t know? This book is for you, isn’t it?” her eyes bore into the top of his small head. 

A surge of hot energy rose within me as my chest and abdomen took turns steadily alternating from mountain to valley, valley to mountain, and back. My hands began to curl tightly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said shyly and tried to raise his eyes.

“Well, then how do you not know?” she snarked. 

His eyes lowered again. “Ma’am, I don’t know where I would find it. I’ve never been to this bookstore before.”

Her hands clasped her hips. “Well, if you haven’t been somewhere before, what do you think you’re supposed to do?”

He paused, seeming to sincerely wonder for a few seconds.

“Go ask someone,” he finally answered.

“‘Go ask someone’,” she mocked. “Yes! Go ask someone!! For crying out loud. Do I always have to do everything?!? Seriously. You’re just like your father. Hell, sometimes, even worse.”

The boy was quiet.

Ant-sized pools of perspiration began collecting just above every exposed area of my skin. Sounds around me garbled as the ones in my head took over—also unintelligible but still deafening loud. If it was possible to hear colors, I was hearing red.

“Well, don’t just stand there, useless and acting like a mute!" the woman continued. "Like you said, go find someone!!”

The boy looked like he wanted to say more but stopped himself. His welling eyes instead spoke for him. He briefly looked around, seeming unsure where to go first, but then slowly turned around and just started walking—apparently to no direction in particular.

Meanwhile, everything sharp and vivid around me had become dull and faded, the hues all bleeding into one another. My hands were taking over. The thumbs had each widely parted from the rest of the bunch, and with it on one side and the other four curled on the other, felt a pull towards the soft windpipe of this woman with the boy, like a thousand paperclips coming at an MRI machine.

But as I stepped toward her, I felt the faintest pointed pressure on my chest.

I jumped back. And then tripped.

My shoelaces.

“Oh my gosh, Jonathan, are you okay?" my ears slowly began picking up an intelligible voice again, while my eyes tried to match the focus.

It was Jeanie’s.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said as she tried to help me up. "I just was saying you have a piece of lint on your shirt, and I was trying to get it for you."

Soon, I was able to see her fully again. And now, my mind just needed to catch up.

“Are you okay?” she asked again.

Despite my best efforts, no words could find their way out, and I remained disoriented and wild-eyed.

“Jonathan? Are you alright?”

After a few more moments, I said, “Yeah,” my voice sounding like I’d been depleted of water for many years. My eyes instantly began quickly searching around me. Jeanie’s eyes tried their best to follow. I probably looked like someone worried they were being followed, trying to confirm they weren’t. But I wasn’t. I was looking for that woman and son. But they were nowhere to be found.

I slowly turned to her and cleared my throat. “Yeah, yes. I’m fine.”

She lingered for a few moments, concerned and trying to assess whether I was telling the truth.

“Are you sure?” she asked. 

“Yeah, yeah, really. I’m fine. Sorry. What were you saying?”

Her slightly raised eyebrow began to drop as she tried to regain her previous thought. “Oh. Umm yeah.. So, I had always loved to read, even as a little girl…”

Somehow, we ended up spending the next two hours, talking. Or at least mostly her talking. Browsing the many books, aisle by aisle. Or at least her browsing. She still was my only interest in the building.

In those two hours, she shared a lot about herself. Like that she was new to town and lived here alone, except for a dog who never met a stranger and a cat who mostly kept to herself. She didn’t have much family, but what little she did have she was pretty close to, and they lived abroad. She’d relocated after reading this was one of the safest, most peaceful cities in the country.

She’d wanted to start fresh after losing her job in her last city. Where had she worked before? Of course. A bookstore.

Since arriving in town, she had been applying to the local bookstores and even a few libraries, although she preferred bookstores. She said a lot more people tended to regularly visit them, and different kinds of people, with different stories. And she clearly liked to talk. But she also liked to listen, for any others around who liked to talk. Or at least who didn’t mind talking.

It just so happened, I didn’t really like to talk. Not because I didn’t have much to say. I actually always had plenty to say. I just didn’t trust myself to talk much without…saying too much. That’s how I’d always remained under the radar.

But, while I wasn’t eager to talk, I did like to listen… To her.

Her.

“So, I know I’ve said more than enough about me. What about you?” she asked and I thought how I’d been perfectly fine hearing more about her and wished we could just continue down that path. “Come on! What makes Jonathan tick? What kinds of things do you do for fun?”

No one had ever asked me that before. I truthfully didn’t know how to answer.

“Oh, uhh… I like to…” I struggled. “Hunt.”

“Like, animals??” she softly asked. And for the first time, I saw sadness, even remote terror, in her eyes—which I normally would have enjoyed, but… Oddly, not this time. 

“Oh, no, no,” I tried to answer in a hurry. “No animals.”

Her eyebrow went up again, waiting for more details.

“Oh, more like… Collector’s items. I just like to… Collect things,” I tried to clarify. Without saying too much.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, seeming relieved. “Cool. Like what?”

Why.

“Mmm just, like… All kinds of things. You know, it changes from time to time. Could be uhh…” I scraped the corners of my brain. What do normal people collect? I thought.

“Baseball cards… Comic books… Coins… Ummm earrings—-“

“Earrings?” she laughed. “Like, women’s earrings?”

Whoops.

“Oh, no, I meant. Rings,” I scrambled. “Like, vintage rings. Jewelry from past eras.”

“Ohh, wow. That’s pretty cool!”

“Yeah,” I said dryly and deeply exhaled to myself.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before she went back to sharing more about her, taking the attention off of me, which I happily relinquished.

As I continued to listen—it felt like more than I had ever listened to anyone in my entire life—this certain weird new sensation grew within me, and I found myself with a stream of thoughts so foreign.

Her.

Her hair. Black, long, and flowing. Usually, I would have this strong compulsion to cut it all off. Or at least most of it. Taking more joy to see it loose in my hands, than coming out of their heads. Feeling that part of their live selves literally in my grasp. And enjoying it both before… And after. 

But not this time. This time, I actually liked seeing it coming from her scalp, with the holder of it actually still breathing below. I actually liked seeing it move with her awakened body. 

And her skin. Unlike usual, I didn’t care to see it robbed of its rosiness or, in her case, its golden glow—becoming increasingly pale, void of the blood once streaming the few layers behind it. With her, I wanted that glow to sustain. Even more oddly, I almost needed it to. It seemed… Radiant. And nourishing. Like it was somehow giving me life.

Her pink lips seemed like they should stay that way forever. Certainly never in my usual favored tone of a grayish, ever-purpling blue. I secretly prayed the blood inside them never went rancid.

Similarly, in this very unique—“unique,” as in otherwise entirely nonexistent—instance, I greatly appreciated her windpipe remaining intact.

Hard to imagine it as anything but, although that usually was the only way I’d care to imagine, to see them… Eventually. But oddly, in this case, I just couldn’t. Nor had the desire to.

Finally, I took rather surprising pleasure in seeing her whole body in her full control. Her fingers, naturally slim and flexing as she willed them to. The intentional look in both of her eyes, versus rolled far back or… Nothing.

She looked at me with those controlled eyes, as we approached the Horror section.

Is this the love everyone’s always talking about? I pondered as we skimmed the titles.

And there you have it. The beginning of my journey to Ours.

I guess I’ll need to come up with a different story at some point. For the kids.