The theory of bookstores

She went to the place she always went when she felt bad. Gray streets, with shops hidden by the midday mist. The sun shone dimly behind a layer of clouds that had risen early that morning. She just wanted a moment to be alone with her books. The only sounds were the occasional car passing by and the click of her heeled boots against the wet pavement.

Her jet-black hair fell over her shoulders. Her eyes were sunken, lacking the usual sparkle that filled them whenever she walked down that same street almost every day, whenever she could. She wondered if she had caused the weather that day, with all the emotions swirling inside her. She wondered if anyone could ever do that—change the weather. Be so powerful, so important, that the gods, if they existed, would grant such power to an ordinary human being: the power to change the weather according to how she felt. A comforting gift. A compassionate gift from the universe that lived up there in the sky.

She wondered if God, universe, or whatever he called himself, lived up there. Why up there? It was a stupid question, obviously, but still—why? He could live in damp, misty forests, with the ethereal, mysterious atmosphere they always had at this time of year, or in oceans so deep that even the best team of scientists hadn’t managed to reach the bottom, filled with mythical, mysterious creatures. The gods could be anywhere, so why up there? Why in the sky? What was so special about the sky that mythology, urban legends, and everyone else pointed to God living up there in the sky? Space. That must be it. Black holes, wormholes, the Milky Way. And besides that, what else?

She stopped in the middle of the street. She had sunk back into her thoughts. Again. As she always did. She looked up at the sky. It didn’t matter; she had practically arrived. She kept walking looking straight into the haze. From there, she could see the large red-brick façade peeking out between a row of shops just a few meters away.

What was the point? What was the point of walking any further if she had already walked so far and still hadn’t reached her destination? When she was little, all her teachers had told her that the end of the journey was always worth it. Her mother would have said something like, “You’re almost there, Eloise! Just keep walking!” She would have said no, as always, and her mother, looking disappointed, would have replied, “Why did you stop? You were so close, honey…”Eloise never answered. She would simply shrug and mutter a hurried, “Sorry, Mom.”

Eloise never understood. Was it worth it? Really? The journey had been awful, and she still had to keep walking? At least, over time, she learned that if she felt it wasn’t worth it, she could stop whenever she wanted—although no one ever understood why. She didn’t know how to explain it either, so she learned to spare herself the trouble of explaining anything to anyone.

The thought stopped her in her tracks. She took off her headphones, intending to connect more with reality. She looked around hoping something caught her eye. with the first thing that appeared. A black and yellow snail. It moved slowly on top of a bush. It was raining hard. Some people were out, though because of the weather, it was more out of necessity than choice. She wished she could meet someone who liked the rain.

She started walking back toward the bookstore, putting her music back on as she walked. Happiness Is a Butterfly by Lana Del Rey played in her headphones, and her eyes filled with tears. She quickly rubbed them; that song always made her feel nostalgic, and while most people liked it, she didn’t. She didn’t like it when the songs she listened to reflected her feelings so personally. It felt as if someone had delved into her deepest desires and dreams and thrown them back in her face. But today wasn’t a normal day, so she let the song play—the one that gave her a strange feeling in her whole body, without knowing why.

The doorbell rang as she quietly entered the bookstore. She put away her umbrella. Unlike other bookstores she had visited, this one brought back memories that weren’t hers. The dark, freshly polished wooden floor gave her an immense feeling of loneliness, and she stopped noticing that. She started noticing the lights. Luckily, they were warm. The white lights of the streetlamps always made her hair stand on end. She walked through the aisles for a while, looking for a book that caught her eye. As she walked, she began to think again about the earlier question. In the sky—above her—what was in the sky? A few birds and clouds made of tiny droplets of liquid water suspended in the atmosphere… no. What was higher up? The stratosphere? Ugh, no, no. That wasn’t it.

She shook her head and sighed, leaning against the wooden bookshelf beside her and closing her eyes. She ran her fingers over the volumes and stopped at one in particular. She touched it and decided she wanted to see what was inside.

“Excuse me.” An older woman tapped her shoulder with a finger.

Eloise turned.

“Sorry, ma’am, we close in ten minutes.”

“Oh—yes, of course. I… I was just leaving.”

She looked down at her fingers, at the book she was holding.

“Can I have this one?”

And then she looked back at the woman. Eloise didn’t recognize her, and yet she had been to that shop more times than to her own house. She had graying red hair and was tall for a woman who looked to be well over seventy. Her face was youthful, her smile kind, and her eyes reminded Eloise of the children she used to see in the parks she once had time to visit—serene eyes, carefree, full of pure joy.

That sight caused a sharp feeling in the pit of Eloise’s stomach. She tried to ignore it by focusing on the title of the book. She had never seen it before, even though, if someone had asked her, she could have easily recalled the entire inventory of that bookstore.

Classic Mythology of the Constellations: Timeless Tales of the Starry Night Sky.

It was a large book with a blue cover, a Pegasus emblazoned across the front. She didn’t know why she had chosen it; it had simply caught her eye, as if the book itself had spoken to her.

Eloise opened her eyes and parted her lips. Without realizing it, She had chosen the book that would answer her questions about the sky. Not every question she carried with her, but at least something that promised to be truly interesting. A fascinating distraction—one that seemed to demand research.

Amazing. That was exactly what she needed most right now. .Stars. The immensity of the stars was something humans would never be able to fully understand. It was mystical, ineffable, uncontrollable. And yet, it existed. It was there. And not fully understanding it didn’t erase its existence at all. The abstract nature of it captivated her.

“Are you interested in the stars?” the woman asked politely, addressing Eloise. She wasn’t wearing a name tag. Eloise decided she would ask her name when she went to pay for the book. Because of course, she was buying it. Eloise spoke without thinking. “I’d like to understand how something so beautiful and so ephemeral can coexist in such a way that—”

Although the woman seemed to be listening carefully to Eloise as she was speaking about the book, Eloise still bit her tongue and stopped herself mid-sentence.

She always did that—She spoke dramatically in places where such speech was not required.

She wished she spoke like a normal person.

The woman seemed to understand her expression. “It’s all right, my dear. I’m quite used to poets and similar souls coming into my shop," he said from behind the worn blue wooden counter.

She was smiling at Eloise.

Such a radiant smile. Eloise thought to herself, surprised.

One of those smiles that warms you from the inside and leaves a mark within your soul.

Eloise smiled a little shyly and began to play with a thread of her scarf.

“Your shop? I thought this place belonged to Mr. Owen.”

"Oh, it technically is. Mr. Owen, is and will be forever my dear brother. He’s been sick these past few weeks. After thinking about it, I realized there wasn’t much left for me back in my tiny house in Scotland. So I packed my bags and now I'm here. Like why not? What do I have to lose? Now I work here, see my little brother every day, read the newspaper with a cup of coffee in my hand and a cat in my lap, and I don’t regret a single thing. Better than ever, you know?”

“Oh… I see.” Eloise found herself growing slightly jealous of the woman’s life.

What else can I say to her? Eloise thought. awkwardly

“If you've been here before you probably now that he’s a tough nut to crack. He’s always been like that; in a few weeks, he’ll be as good as new. I only came here because I felt bad leaving him alone during the winter and…”

She stepped closer to Eloise and lowered her voice, as if she were confessing a secret.

“Who wouldn’t love to work in a bookstore like this?”

Eloise felt something soften inside her. There was something deeply endearing about the old woman’s bold spirit—the kind you don’t come across very often. And in that moment, Eloise decided she would come back the next day.My name is Matilda Campbell. You can call me Matilda or Ms. Campbell. I don't really care. I never married—I never saw the need, you know?” Matilda said with a laugh.

Eloise would have liked to hear the woman speak more, but it was getting late. She probably had to leave now.

Eloise looked at her watch and let out a deep sigh. “Well, I enjoyed talking to you, ma’am.”

“Matilda, darling.”

“Matilda”. After the long day Eloise had had, she smiled—this time for something that belonged only to her, not out of politeness or someone else’s joy, but her own.

"But I really have to go. She said these words guiltily, as if it were her fault that time couldn't be stopped and that maybe if she wished harder the hands of the clock would do her a favor just this once.

Matilda reached out to gently touch Eloise's hand with hers. As if she saw through Eloise's eyes. "Don't worry, darling. You can come and talk with me whenever you want. I won't move from here." She said with a wink, moving her hands, pointing at the books. "Besides, I have a feeling we'll become good friends, and as soon as my brother feels better, you and I can talk for as long as we want. And I can even give you a sneak peek at the list of books we buy each time, so you can see if you find any that interest you.

Eloise felt grateful for the woman’s words, and for the decision to come to the bookstore that day, which had allowed her to meet her. Perhaps it was meant to be. Eloise decided to believe it was.

"Have a good day, Matilda”.

“You too, dear.”

Matilda smiled back, and Eloise left the shop feeling strange—lighter. As if something inside her had shifted simply because someone had seemed to be interested in how she was.

She started walking slowly. Gazing at her feet, with a the ghost of a smile in her face. Someone had smiled at her, and she had bought a book. Suddenly, the day didn’t feel so awful anymore.

She put her headphones back on and began to walk. She felt the afternoon breeze brush against her face, heard the birds humming in the sky, and watched the traffic lights shimmer in the puddles on the ground. Reaching into her bag, she carefully took out the book and pressed it to her chest. She breathed. Once.. twice. She had forgotten to breathe. She remembered it now.

Vaguely, at the back of her mind, she realized that it had stopped raining.