She had passed it maybe a couple of times...new to this town she was just now figuring out her rights and lefts, her norths and south. Something about the place that she checked some place in her mind to return...and then kept driving.
The name of the place was Word...and she wasn't sure what it was so she left it alone...figured she'd never need it.
In the high summer she was ambling around town and she saw the place again, but in addition to the green outline of the building there was a couple of huge tubs, like bathing ones...and inside of each of them, filled to the gills so to speak were a variety of summer vegetables: tomatoes of the ripest red she had ever seen, yellow onions, butter beans prepackaged in plastic, cucumbers, green and red peppers and of course snap beans. She was at a redlight and she casually noticed people stopping by, fondling a few of the bigger offerings and putting them in handbags or plastic. She furrowed her brow at this obvious shoplifting and turned the corner to park. Parking was free on the weekends...and she rarely got into town given her commute to the tech centers in Virginia.
She got out of the car, leaving the confines of air conditioning and immediately wondered if she should continue this brief stop. The humidity was nearly 100% with no chance of rain...just a pure white sky. But she continued and found herself amongst a couple of folks picking through the bins. One old lady slightly nodded as she held up a very long cucumber and she suppressed a giggle...the lady tucked it under her arm and strode away.
what the fuck she thought. People are just coming right up and taking this. She glanced at the door of the Word store, still not knowing what it was and saw a tiny cardboard sign by the front. It had pretty poor handwriting but she could read: ....And Vegetables. That's all it said. No price tags, no suggested tips. Just that. By now she was sweating and her hair started to curl at the ends. She decided to go in.
Immediately cooling relief...like walking into a freezer. And a slight scent...tobacco? Was somebody smoking here, she thought? It was a nice smell...like a place men like her father or her grandfather would gather, beside a fireplace or a lantern, and throw shadows against the wall and talk...she could her her father's drawl in a place like this. It smelled like that, plus some old pages, not dusky, just airy.
As she entered there wasn't any chime or bell...she looked at rows and rows of books. Some were very new best sellers but others were of maps, or coffee table size. There wasn't a ton of organization but it was inviting...that and the familiar warm scent...of men, she thought. And not in some exclusionary way, but rather a place where a woman could know she wasn't intruding but rather welcome.
She noticed a door towards the back and walked towards it...the scent of a cigar grew slightly...and against the yellow light she saw tendrils of smoke. She worried for a second and then she saw him.
He was reading...a cigar in one hand and a book in the other. It was of black and white photographs. He was older than her but still had a look about him...she felt that and it was like he was waiting for her.
Hello he said, without even looking up...can I help you?
She moved closer to the door, the room warm with scent but still pleasing in comparison to the outside...she thought she heard a slight sound of music from a white sonos speaker in the corner...Uh, she started, I wanted to ask about the vegetables...Christ, she thought. What an opener.
He looked up and regarded her...it was an immune gaze but she suddenly felt exposed...not sure, maybe the sweaty hair, maybe the sweat on her back...but she felt like she needed to put on some lip gloss or toss her hair about. He was slightly smiling. The vegetables? What about them?
Well...she said, her hand climbing up the door frame, elongating her in front of him. How much are they?
How much?
yeah?
Well they're free.
Free. You mean like one or two?
No, like take as many as you want...or they'll just go to waste. He looked back down at his book and took a draw from his cigar...she couldn't tell how tall he was but he looked lanky, but in good shape. Sharp eyes and when they fell on her she couldn't help but feel noticed.
He looked up again...but if you want a book you're gonna have to buy it.
She nodded, understood and went out front again. Humidity smacked her back into a bit of a reality and she plucked two of the best looking tomatoes she had ever seen and a bag of butter beans. She got back to her car and threw the items in her front seat. She couldn't wait to get home.
He watched her disappear like the blown smoke from his shrinking cigar...I really should put a bell on that goddamn door. She was new...hell, he knew mostly everybody. She was more city. But her voice...it ladled out of her like southern gravy. It was warm, fluid, and reminded him of something...he couldn't put his finger on it. He inhaled another turn of the cigar...felt the warming smoke inside before exhaling, the scents lingering inside his mouth and his nose...he looked at the embers at the end of the cigar. He blew on them, the orange gray suddenly becoming reddish orange, a fiery flame...that suddenly succumbed to the oxygen and air and returned to a quiet state...
Back at her new house she had washed the tomatoes and pulled one out, a delicious red with a little bit of give to the skin to know it was very ripe...she took a knife from its magnetic strip near the fridge and cut it in half...some juice and seeds fell out on the cutting board...she cut the half once more in half and took her salt shaker and sprinkled it liberally across the red slice. She took a bite, and returned to a time when she was much younger and interrupted her mom cooking dinner, snatching a piece for herself before being shooed out the door. It burst in her mouth.
Whenever she drove down Main Street in Front Royal she usually scanned the road for bikers, or kids, or walkers...but she now had a bit of an orientation...she needed to at least cross into the line of sight of the bookstore. She had gone in now and again, perusing but mostly seeing if he was around...in his office or arranging books. Usually they were alone, the scents of the store and the heat outside...she hoped she wasn't intruding as she rarely bought a book...in fact had never...but she felt like if she was going to grab a bag of summer vegetables that she should find him. Talk to him. Whatever. He always obliged.
Fall in the Shenandoah Valley is actually the very best time of year...when the colors come, starting high in the mountains and slowly filtering down into the floor...being far enough from DC, Front Royal is able to be rid of tourists and crowds once the end of September hits...October is delightful and November sucks...but when the colors bloom it is truly a spectacle to witness. And the summer vegetables move into the fall...the tubs now dark with radishes and beets, root vegetables...but some fava beans and kale are still worth checking out...not quite as many people were in front of the store, the winds picking up and allowing just a smattering of people picking over the tubs. She liked radishes...so she would wait until late in the afternoon when the sun was behind the mountain but still glowing...and she would collect them in a plastic bag until it was brimming. The bookstore had faint light so it always seemed dark...she wondered if he was there.
She opened the door and a tiny pretty noise was made. Hmm, she thought, he's getting smarter.
Can I help you? She heard his voice from the back. She moved towards it.
He wasn't smoking a cigar this day but he was in a new spot...a new room that she had never known...it was like a parlor, with a fireplace. Christ she thought, how many rooms does this place have?
It was a tiny fireplace, like for one or two pieces of wood and it spilled out into the room noticeably...but it gave off a nice warmth...and somewhere she heard the sonos playing its music.
I'm finally expanding, he said.
Expanding?
Yeah, making rooms people want to be in...to read, or just be...here. He moved his arm around the room...there were candles on the shelves, all lit. It smelled of linen...it was like a spa...inside a bookstore.
Uh, she started...this is lovely...it kind of feels like a spa.
A spa? Really? Not what I was going for.
But you have candles...that smell like linen.
He snapped his head towards the burning wicks. Goddamn. I should have kept the theme.
The theme?
Yeah, tobacco. He stomped off and went further back into the store. She took her brimming back of radishes and left.
Winter in Virginia is unwieldy...it starts maybe in October and ends in March, or maybe February. It snows or sleets. It is cold and windy and then randomly a day in November it is warm. It sucks because it should be snow and predictable...it is always the opposite.
Despite the cold temperatures the tubs in front of the store were full...the town was like a gray shawl, wrapped around itself and turned inward for warmth. She knew that they would be filled with carrots and brussel sprouts and maybe some parsnips...winter vegetables generally sucked and she harkened back to that day with the tomato and its summer salty taste.
She wondered, astonishingly if that is how he tasted in a kiss. She shook her head, trying to drive it out, but it lingered.
She grabbed a handful of carrots and started snacking on them even as she pushed the door to the store open. She heard the pretty noise.
Carrots, huh? he walked towards her, the afternoon light being sucked out to the west like a pull from a straw...those could use some ranch.
Ranch? she said
Yeah, carrots suck by themselves...I've been toying with the idea of those ranch packets being left outside but can't figure out if they'll enjoy them alone or only with chicken wings.
They don't suck by themselves she said, loudly crunching one for emphasis.
He smiled. Okay, point taken. He clapped his hands together...so what can I do for you?
For me, she got out, words stuck by carrot bits and pieces.
Yeah...you never buy any books...you take all my vegetables...
whaaa?
Kidding...he smiled. He strode up next to her. In the dying light he could see her eyes were really dark...like rich soil...like where only the best things would grow...ideas, thoughts...she was a fertile gaze and he regarded her.
I'm very glad you come by here...
She stopped crunching her carrot. I am too.
He extended a hand, worn with gardening, typing words on a typewriter, holding burning cigars...it was tough and ordinary but when she let it envelope her pale cold hand it was warming...it felt almost like it came from an oven. It warmed her, stirred her.
Outside the last remnants of an afternoon played high above the sky before darkening...in her hand she held bright orange carrots and in her other hand she held something she wasn't quite sure of...but wasn't quite ready to relax her grip.
