Ch. 7
"Hey Natalie, can you restock Biology 1310? Thanks."
"No problem Todd," I yelled to the back of the fleeing 5'4 stocky assistant manager "and it's Natalia!"
In hindsight getting a job at the campus bookstore was a smart move; flexible hours, short commute, discount on books, and a major distraction from any other possible distraction. I also liked walking down the English aisle and skimming the literature books. Sure if I worked a coveted library position I could be waltzing down tall stacks of musty books, inhaling the scent of knowledge at every turn.
"Hey book chick," nope this is way better than the library, "where's the pre Cal books?"
I take a deep sigh from my interrupted thoughts, "fourth aisle on the right" I reply to the random college guy already walking away. I spend most of my work day talking to people's back, I get it, you're in a hurry and buying books can be frantic but the southerner in me still believe it's impolite to leave without a thank you.
Not all customers are in a hurry or dismissive, there's quite a few who genuinely need to be walked through the book buying processing. Finding your professors specific book, going through book loans and scholarships, and returning the books you just purchased because it's last year's version and you're required to have this years. No, the helping part I like, yelling information to people dismissively walking away, not so much. For those moments I take a walk down the English aisle.
As I ran my fingers along the spines of the literary aisle I stopped at an overstuffed poetry book. Pulling it out of its space I close my eyes and open the book to a random page. My finger travels down the page and finds a resting place as I open my eyes to see what fate has in store.
SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
I breathe a sigh as I relish in the luxury of the poem, everything around me dissipates into a dense fog. In this moment nothing exists but the words on this page. As I read every word slowly savoring every second I don't realize I've begun to read aloud.
"One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. "
I mutter the words to myself lost in the prose of contextual romance, when I notice a voice penetrating my fog. I can hear the edges of someone talking, to me? I tear my eyes away from the page to see a figure leaning against the bookshelf staring into me with forest green eyes. His arms are folded against his chest with a wry smirk on his face as he recites the rest of the poem from memory.
"And on that cheek and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent -
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent."
"Uhm, can I help you sir?" I quizzed still puzzled by the intrusion on my peaceful moment.
"Yes, you can, do you always stand in the middle of the aisle bellowing 18th century romantic literature?"
"Only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I wouldn't say I bellowed."
"Well my fault, I guess watching a pretty girl engrossed in a Lord Byron poem just threw me off.""
He was funny, but funny only gets you so far and it was almost time for me to clock out and get to class.
"Are you looking for something in particular?" I said deciding to ignore the pretty comment.
"Yes I am, you just happen to be holding it." Pointing at the book in my grasp.
