The Book Attic

The clouds gathering in the east had grown darker in the past few hours, just another spot of gloom on an already gloomy day. Or an ill omen for things to come, perhaps. It had been so lovely that morning with the sun peeking out from behind a white, fluffy cloud, but by noon, a storm had formed to put a damper on a promising day. Peter tried to keep the frown at bay as he pulled his coat closer to his body as he continued his journey past a series of boarded-up buildings, and the temperature had yet to turn chilly. 

Around him people hurried along their way, pulling on heavier coats or pulling out their umbrellas ahead of the rain. Peter cursed himself for leaving his umbrella back at the office now that the storm he saw grew the closer he came to it. He worked in a cubicle nowhere near a window, so he had left the office with the partially sunny skies in mind, not the potential storm in the east. He should have checked the weather app on his phone. Would that have changed anything?  Would he still have left his umbrella hiding under his desk?

“It’s not even that cold yet,” he muttered to himself as he followed the same people he saw every single day as they ventured out to the street vendors to buy lunch.

Had he known how the weather was going to turn to crap, he thought, he would have packed a lunch at home and eaten it as he finished yet another project. Perhaps if he had, he could have finished it and been able to get out of the office a little early today. He groaned. What did he have to go home to besides nothing? He had tried keeping plants and goldfish but both had died within a month or so. The few friends he still kept in touch with suggested he should get a dog. Peter shook his head. He couldn’t be trusted with a goldfish, so why should he, or anyone else, trust him with a dog?

Many of his coworkers had dogs, often bringing them to work. He could see they were all much happier, and sometimes those dogs snuck into his cubicle for attention or treats. He enjoyed the tiny distractions the dogs provided, even if their presence kept him from getting his work done. 

Peter let out a sigh as he turned a corner. He looked up and stopped midstride, blinking as he looked at the stone buildings along the street instead of a row of food vendors. How had he missed his turn? He never missed the street where he bought his lunch. How had it happened now? He glanced from one side of the street to the other. Not one of these buildings had boards covering their windows from the last riot. He took a few steps down the block, peeking up at the nearest street sign. Raven Ave, the sign read. 

He knew the city like the back of his hand, and he had never been on this street before. Never had he heard of this street before. Yet every building on this street looked familiar like he had been here before. How could he know a street he had not walked on until today? Had a movie he had seen been filmed on this street? Or had he seen pictures of it in a book or on the Internet? Peter took a few more steps down the street and stopped. He had dreamed of this street, hadn’t he? 

The streets were cleaner here than in other parts of the city. No graffiti decorated the little shops around him. A few people strolled along the sidewalks, window shopping with bags filled with their purchases dangling from their arms. At least three people had their dogs with them. All of it just like what happened in his dream. Peter took a few more steps down the street and let his eyes glance up at some store to his left. A hand-crafted sign hung from above the window and read The Book Attic. That store, he thought, he had walked into that store.

Peter crossed the street without even looking for cars driving down the street. Why had he been drawn to that bookstore in his dream? Why did he want to find out now? His stomach reminded him that he had been on his way to get lunch, not go into a little bookstore he had never heard of before. With the amount of reading he had to do for work, he rarely took the time to read during his time off. What could this one bookstore sell that could possibly interest him?

He had to step around a few people strolling in front of the store before he could reach the door. Peter reached for the door handle as his eyes studied the sign dangling on the other side of the door. The word ‘open’ had been etched in a piece of wood. It reminded him of all the woodworking his grandfather had done. All the toys his grandfather had carved for him were gathering dust in a box in his closet. Peter swallowed as he pulled the door open; the same memories had visited him in his dream.

Stepping inside, he heard a bell ringing followed by a woman’s voice saying, “Welcome to The Book Attic! I’ll be right with you.”

He looked around to search for the store employee but he could not see her anywhere with all the shelves. Just like the perfectly manicured street outside, this little hole-in-the-wall bookstore was perfectly organized. The only thing that was out of place in the entire store was him. Peter stepped further into the store, his eyes darting from a shelf of toys to his left to the cash register to his right with a case of books locked behind glass. Footsteps coming out from behind a bookshelf tore his attention from the register. 

He swung his head to see a woman at least three heads shorter than him come into view. Her blue eyes widened as her jaw dropped. She hadn’t been in the dream, had she? Had he met her before? He would have remembered meeting someone as beautiful as her.

“I’ve seen you before,” she said softly.

“Where?” he asked.

She smiled as she closed the distance between them. “In a dream,” she whispered.

“The name’s Peter,” he told her.

“I know. I’m Everly.”