Ad Memoriam

Robert “Bobby” Miller was a military man through and through. Having served in the Second Infantry Division during the Korean War, Bobby knew only staunch discipline and a battle-ready regiment. Each day started the same: wake up, make breakfast, brush teeth, walk to the cornerstore for a cup of bitter coffee and paper then spend the rest of the day in. A routine crafted for a man such as himself who liked to achieve daily maximum potential.

It was a bleary day with a chill settling in, a northern wind threatening an early winter. But nothing stopped Bobby. He had served in a war for Christ’s sake a little cold and a bum knee wouldn’t stop him from his routine. It was cold in Korea too- winter settled early in those years, they didn’t have the fancy gear they had nowadays. And he survived just fine. Even though the cold made his bones ache and forced him to lean on the cane he hated, he would survive this day as he had survived the last 97 years.

“You’re too old to be going out Da.”

“Da, Cindy and I think you need to be put in a home. You can’t look after yourself anymore. You’re almost a hundred!”

Bah. Bobby may have been damn near a century, but he was perfectly capable of looking after himself. He had done so for most of his life; nothing was going to change now. He didn’t need a babysitter. Perhaps the rows of medicines changed in number, and his pace had slowed, but he was still PFC Robert Miller. Military man. Second Infantry Division.

The walk to the cornerstore was brutal, the wind picking up and an icy howl blasting through his ears. Great gusts shaking Bobby to the core. Those walls of snow hiding the foxholes that left so many behind. The phantom ache in his right foot pushed him forward, the subtle clacking of his cane against pavement a reminder of the here and now. Bobby had to shake himself and take a hard look at the apartment buildings that started cropping up years ago, the fields were no longer farmland, but an urban junction. Snow had not yet fallen so Bobby continued on. Down two blocks and across the street. Just as he was crossing a horn blasted making Bobby freeze in his tracks. Heart racing and blood pumping so loudly in his ears the world seemed to bleed and blend until the distant sound of shouting pulled him out.

“GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!” A man. It was a man, shouting at Bobby with a reddened face and spittle flying out. “THE LIGHT! WAIT FOR THE GODDAMN LIGHT, FUCKING SENILE OLD MAN!” The shouting continued but Bobby could hardly react, the sirens blaring and lights flashing behind heavily lidded eyes.

Cars blew past him and finally Bobby was able to continue the long trek. When had they put a traffic light on the corner? Idiots, the city council always making last-minute decisions and not informing the public. It was his right as a US citizen to know what they were doing in the town he lived in all his life. With a deep breath he opened the heavy wooden door of the cornerstore.

“Good morning, Mr. Miller.”

“-Private.” Bobby stated.

“I’m sorry?”

“It is Private Miller. Private.. the…” Bobby trailed off looking around the clean space. White tiled floor and wooden slats with nail polish along the walls. “Well- where the hell is the paper? Mrs. Jameson, that’s right, what is going on here?” Another addition, Bobby knew that change was coming, he hadn’t expected the turnover so quickly overnight.

Mrs. Jameson gave Bobby and placating smile, he could always tell, but it irritated Bobby. He wanted his damn coffee and newspaper. Before he could give Mrs. Jameson a piece of his mind, she handed him a Styrofoam cup filled with coffee. Bobby let out a grumble and limped to the marble countertop. Why a cornerstore needed a new counter, Bobby would never understand. What was wrong with the other one?

“Cream.” Bobby grumbled under his breath.

Mrs. Jameson handed him a cold carton of cream and Bobby tipped it into his cup. Just a drop to color it. “The paper is out today, Mr. Miller. You will have to go to the library.”

Taking a careful sip, Bobby let the hot liquid burn his insides. “You need to get on that, the paperboy should’ve been out, fire him if you ask me.”

The response was automatic, and as he took a step to the side, Bobby stumbled into a shelf and banged his foot into the corner. Pain radiated upwards and the contents of the shelf spilled out. Pretty glass bottles and plastic sheets laid across the floor. Bobby went to help pick up the mess, but soon coffee was spilling down his arm and the burning liquid caused curses to spill from his lips.

“S-sorry Linda, I didn’t see the shelf there.” Embarrassment grew hot behind his cheeks, but he refused to let it show. It was in a bad spot, they shouldn’t put new furniture in the way, but the cornerstore was all wrong and Bobby scanned the contents. White chairs and printed rugs, a coffee table sitting with magazines where the fridges of pop used to be.

“It is quite alright, don’t worry Mr. Miller. If you want the paper, the library has it. Do you know where the library is?” Her tone was sweet and understanding.

Bobby had to shake himself from the pain and the too-bright lights. His surroundings were so unfamiliar it was jarring.

Staring at the woman, short icy blonde hair and large blue eyes, a familiarity that clicked. “…Johnson. Yeah, Terry and Ralph Johnson, how are your parents?”

Her smile wobbled and tears pricked her eyes. “Fine, Mr. Miller. Have a good day now.”

Bobby managed a smile, staring embarrassingly once again at the mess he made - his coffee on the counter in a puddle. He couldn’t bring it to the library with him anyhow. The bell tinkled once again signaling his departure and so he headed to the library. It was easy to get to: follow the sidewalk around the block and the stone monstrosity awaited.

The library was an old building- the oldest building, in the city. Made of solid stone and spires that practically touched the sky, it looked closer to a traditional Roman Catholic church than it did a public library. Yet here it stood in mighty measures, grand as the day she was built. Time may have happened around her, yet she remained the same as though in the eye of a hurricane.

Thankfully, whoever created the building had the foresight to limit the amount of stairs it contained. Unlike all the other buildings around the city where stairs were built in like a domino chain. Useless and tiring. Bobby always took the stairs.

Stepping in from the outside, the cold melted like butter. Bobby’s bones stopped protesting and walking became that much easier. He liked when people knew how to heat a building, none of that 68-degree bullshit to “conserve on energy”. Bobby would never understand what the point of heat was if people never used it the way it was meant to. The heavy door closed with a resounding thud that echoed through the expansive space.

The shot heard around the world. Bobby recalled.

The library was larger than Bobby remembered, a vast space filled to the brim with shelves of books and bright sunlight illuminating the space from the large windows adorning the walls. The semi-circular circulation desk sat in the front of it all, like a sleeping dragon guarding its horde. The librarian, a nondescript gentleman with a bright smile, greeted Bobby with such enthusiasm it startled him.

“Ah hello there!” His voice was baritone smooth, reassurance Bobby hadn’t felt since he was a kid coursing through him. Like it was a trick. Like the man was expecting him.

It was all unnerving, a disconnect from his usual routine. Bobby was all out of sorts as the librarian continued to look at him. Such a knowing gleam in his eyes. Bobby didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.

Why had Bobby gone into the library to begin with? He hadn’t been here since his school days and now he was being stared down, like he was a spy.

“N-nothing, just looking around.” Bobby grumbled beneath his breath, bypassing the man with a wide berth to the far corner where the stacks were darkened from shadow.

Bobby kept looking back at the librarian, expecting him to follow, to hunt him down between the sections. Like an invisible force Bobby evaded between the cases, turning with his back against the shelves until his breath was coming in pants and his hand was sore from gripping his cane. Not here. Not here. He could feel eyes watching, pinpricks from the books gazing on until each turn left him feeling uncertain and distinctly like prey. Further he continued until he stumbled into the last bookshelf in the library. It was an old thing- dusty with mothballs sticking to long lost titles. It seemed Bobby had stumbled into a hall, with dim lights overhead, nothing but the bookshelf standing at the far end. But Bobby knew he could feel their wrath, hear the distant sounds of gunfire and the pounding of footsteps above him.

They were coming.

He started to frantically pull at the books on the shelves, hoping they would provide some measure of cover. He was a rabbit in a foxhole, trying to burrow his way out of the predators maw. It was like that old saying, “there are no atheists in a foxhole” that struck Bobby, and if by some insane measure of survival Bobby started to pray, and as the words that had long been lost from his school days stuck in his throat, and the last book was pulled from the shelf, did a hole open up and swallow Bobby down into the earth.

The man expected darkness to surround him as his eyes opened. But no- it was a twinkling glow of a hundred little lights in a wide cavern that greeted him. A light fell languidly down, coming nearer until it landed like a kiss upon his cheek. A trembling hand reached out to touch the soft feather skin of a petal. A cherry blossom. Another fell. Landing near his feet, and then another and another. Only ever one at a time, never more, never less. The petals were scattered around the base of the old winding tree, branches stretched up towards the vast ceiling that saw no end that he could see. And there were a lot of petals, a hoard of them, all cluttered around in a blush pink with that golden twinkling light held within. The man stood unsteadily and took in the rest of his new surroundings. The cherry blossom appeared to be exactly central to a library. Not like the one he had just escaped from, this one felt different- personal. Shelves of books were lined in a perfect circle around the tree, the light of which glowed softly upon them in lazy golden hues. The gnarled branches hung with tips that brushed against the tops of the shelves. Little sprouts of ivy with wide purple flowers curled themselves around a moss and stone covered floor. It was a paradise that drew him in. Each step forward met with a fresh scent of morning dew and soft parchment that lingered. Fingers danced across the spines of books with titles he could not read, but could feel deep within his soul, like a calling. On he went with measured steps forward, not a care in the world. The man had one purpose now, like a calling from on high, he knew he was searching for something. A book- perhaps. Each touch sent a new thrill through him until he felt the one that called to his heart.

He could feel the book was important. He didn’t know what was on the cover, or what the book was titled, only that it was his. With a smile on his lips, the man began to read a tale.

A tale about a man named Robert “Bobby” Miller.