- 4 -
January 2045
Dean
The first week of the year is always spent re-familiarizing yourself with the neighborhood, my book had explained. So, here I am. Exploring the city that is apparently my own, with no destination in mind and a cherry-red nose numb from the air’s freezing chill. Anonymous faces pass me on their own adventures to unknown locations.
In a few minutes, my fingers will be useless. My jacket isn’t suitable for this killer cold, but it’s hard to dress appropriately when you don’t know where you live. Ann Arbor, Michigan, is listed in our address. Apparently, Michigan winter has a bite that my wardrobe isn’t ready to deflect.
Our books weren’t exactly thorough. There are a lot of loose ends and, even though my room looks like a library, I don’t care to search for answers I’ll only forget. How long ago was it that reading was my escape? Two years or two days?
My mind’s lingering questions accompany me and the wind as we pick up our pace—because freezing to death isn’t on this year’s bucket list.
In one area of interest, our books were crystal clear: government officials are the only ones who don’t have their minds erased. They’re the givers of The Gift and ensure the safety of civilians by watching us carefully. I should be thankful, but it’s hard to appreciate their generosity when none of us can recall why we needed it.
Forcing my attention back to the sea of strangers, I can’t help but wonder if any of them are government officials who remember me. The majority have focused their eyes on the city, familiarizing themselves with the forgotten town as it comes back to life, but to anyone who glances up, I give a soft smile—just in case.
Tracing my turns onto a mental map to home, I walk until my chattering teeth risk chipping and settle outside of a quaint corner shop. A trail of dormant ivy has grown up the navy matte siding, pointing each passerby toward an antique arched door. The warm light shining through its old stained-glass window beckons me to enter and find reprieve from the cold.
As I walk inside, a rainbow of colors shines across my feet, and the warm air shoots pins and needles through my hands.
Oh, this entryway is picture-perfect for an awkward side step with a stranger. Tight hallway, short ceilings—claustrophobic as can be. What a choice for my first stop post-“event.” That’s what my book called it: The Big Event. The lack of creativity is disappointing, but not surprising. It is the government, after all.
A part of me had hoped I’d stumbled upon a bar. A drink to take the edge off would’ve been nice, but after a slight left, the room expands into a cozy coffee shop warmly lit by the new morning light. The floor-to-ceiling windows on the farthest wall are excellent for brightening up the place, but a particular form of cruelty to the birds that might fly into them. Hanging plants cascade down from the ceiling, soaking in the rays of the sun. They have the perfect life, really.
Inhaling the peace of this place, I glance toward the line. A smiling barista is silently waiting for me to approach the counter. Is this level of patience always offered, or is this a first-week practice to bring ease to the nervous city?
Either way, I’m thankful.
“Good Morning! Welcome to The Marmotte. What can I get for you today?” she asks cheerfully, but my heart begins to race as I stare blankly at the letterboard menu behind her. It looks like it’s written in a different language.
“Make me something as sweet as your smile,” I say with a smirk. In a world where you’ll be forgotten, there’s room for some pretty big risks. Small ones too, like hitting on your barista.
“Yes, sir.” She salutes, blushing and barely meeting my eyes.
Hopefully I didn’t make her uncomfortable in the attempt to save my pride. Asking her to explain the menu would’ve been a little embarrassing, no?
Before I can make any more choices I’ll regret, I turn to find a seat. Bench seating lines the wall to my left, spanning five fully occupied tables. To the right, past the bar, there’s a living room setup where three women are sitting, one in each of the minimalistic leather chairs and another on the loveseat. The smallest of them laughs so hard she snorts, and hot coffee pours all over her hand. The other two join in laughing, and I swear the room brightens because of the sun-kissed, sandy blonde. That woman is a living, breathing sunshine. Even as coffee stains her rainbow striped sweater, she’s radiant. Electric, really. Can’t take my eyes off her, so I stumble to a seat in the middle of the room. This might sound crazy, but I wasn’t ready to pick a side yet.
With every glance at the women, a pang of jealousy punches me in the gut. They look like they’ve known each other for a lifetime. Guys are slower to warm than girls, but not that much slower. These ladies have skipped a few steps. Or a hundred. Maybe they work for the government.
“Here is one smiley-sweet coffee,” the barista says, laughing as she carefully sets a full cup in front of me. “Next time, call it a white-chocolate mocha.”
Before I can thank her, she’s off to greet the next customer. Considering it’s the first week of the year, this place is already packed. I can’t imagine how busy it will be once people stake their claims as regulars at their favorite places.
Warming my hands on the mug, I slowly raise it to my lips. Despite my steady touch, coffee pours all over my hands, pants, and table. The woman with the auburn hair chuckles, but I’m too preoccupied to connect if she is laughing at my faux pas. I hope the blonde didn’t notice it.
Even more carefully, I lift the mug again, and hot coffee laced with white chocolate meets my lips. It’s sweet, like she said. Feels sentimental to me somehow, but nostalgia is a topic for a therapist to dissect.
Thoughts pass with the hours as I sit peacefully. This is the first place that’s actually felt like home, and I’m not ready to leave it.
Hallee
Avery and Marlowe are fun friends to have. Can I call them that already? Feels like I can, and I have, but maybe that’s wrong to feel so soon.
We tried a new coffee shop this morning before going our separate ways for work. Avery is a florist down the block, and Marlowe works at the craft store across town. I wonder if we got to choose our jobs—those seem fitting for them. Will mine be fitting for me, too?
I’ve been standing in this parking lot like a lost child for twenty minutes, and I’m still going to be late. The coffee’s caffeine is exacerbating my already anxious stomach, and twenty minutes hasn’t been enough time to build up the courage to go inside. Actually, maybe it’s been too much, and ripping the Band-Aid off would’ve been easier.
Is there a right way to have a first day of work? That’s all I want—for this to go right, but reading about where I work and seeing where I work are two very different things. There’s less to lose in a mere idea.
If I stare any longer, the vintage “Happy Bookday” sign above the door might send me into cardiac arrest. Apparently, I’m a sales lady here. Maybe I’ll get to take some books home at a discounted rate? The apartment could use some love.
Well, my apartment.
I’ve got to get used to calling that place mine.
Inhaling bravery, I force my foot to take one step. I can do this. One step after the other—that is how I’ll face my fears.
Meeting new people is an unfortunate thing to be anxious about, considering it happens all the time. There’s a lot to be lost in a poor first impression, and label me insecure, but I just don’t want to let anyone down. It’d be helpful to list off the reasons why I feel I’m not disappointing, but how can I reassure myself when I don’t know who I am?
The store bell dings loudly, startling me as I enter. A thin, quirky man with thin-framed glasses hops across the aisles, and I can’t help but smile at the sight of his boldly colored outfit. He is walking proof that someone can dress colorfully and professionally all at once.
“Who let the sunshine in?” he exclaims, reaching out to me. His perfectly gelled salt-and-pepper hair jiggles with our firm handshake.
“Good morning! I’m Hallee. I’m so sorry I’m late. Nerves got the best of me.”
Although, they’ve been immediately curbed by the comfort of a thousand stories staring back at me. I’m at home here.
As he looks me up and down, there’s a suspicion in his pause. He’s probably assuming this’ll be a regular occurrence.
It won’t. I don’t know how to explain that I’m sure of it, but I am. Sure of it.
“Hi, Hallee. No need to be nervous. You fit right in here, remember? I already know you.”
“Oh, of course you do!” I shout like a totally relaxed, and not at all anxious, person.
“Business owners fall under the umbrella of government officials.”
“Right, my book did teach me that.” How could I forget? But, honestly, how could I remember? “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Miles is the name, bookselling is my game.” His shoulders teeter back and forth, shrugging in time with his rhyme. “Follow me to the back of the store. I’ll train you today from back to front, and in the wink of an eye you’ll know the store from front to back. See what I did there?”
He clearly gets a lot of joy from his work—from talking to other people. Will being timid hurt me as a saleswoman?
“Bookselling isn’t an easy business these days. Readers’ shelves are stocked with books they get to enjoy for the first time again, every year.” A small frown lowers his joyful facade, just enough to catch a glimpse of sorrow.
“But fear not!” he exclaims as his cheerful smile returns. “We have some steady regulars who can’t seem to get enough of escaping into another world.”
That’s how I’ll sell these stories. They’re real-life magic—capable of transporting us to a hundred different realities. Hate it? Jump to the next and leave the others behind. Love it? Find comfort in its friendship, because when the pages of our life flip to a new year, the books will remain. They’ll hold on to our memories.
“This is the children’s section,” Miles explains, stopping at the back of the store. “It’s small, but mighty.”
“It sure is.” I smile, taking in the dreamy space.
It’s the perfect place to foster imagination—to stop time as we know it. Twinkly lights frame a sparkling stage, puppets hang on hooks by the steps, and fluffy cloud-shaped poufs await in a semicircle, ready for an audience to enjoy a show.
“There’s not much to know about this section, except that all are welcome. Age does not get to steal away youth—unless we let it.”
“Let’s not let it,” I reply.
“I knew I liked you.” He smiles, pausing briefly before continuing. “Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Oh, please. Call me Miles!”
Miles who smiles—a lot.
“The store grows increasingly more professional as we walk toward the front,” he explains while we pass through the aisles. “We increase the personality of the store as customers walk through in order to draw them in. The further into the store they get, the more likely they are to walk out with not only what they came for, but another item as well.”
“Makes sense,” I say with a nod, doing my best to keep up. In only fifteen minutes, he points out the bestsellers, up-and-coming authors, and the entire layout of the store.
“Okay, Hallee, let’s test your memory.” The joke snaps me like a rubberband. “Lead me through the store from front-to-back.”
“Okay, Miles, the—”
Consider me saved, and startled, by the bell’s announcement of the next employee-in-training’s arrival.
“Well, excellent work, Hallee. You can go for the rest of the day. No sense in information overload. I’ll see you tomorrow—same time, same place.”
Without leaving room for a reply, he skips to the wide-eyed girl. My sheepish wave does nothing to bring color back into her face, but I can’t blame her. It wouldn’t have made a difference for me either.
Does he really want me to leave? Maybe this is a test to see how I respond to authority figures, or maybe he understands how challenging the start of the new year can be.
Taking his word at face value, I pack up my things and head out into the cold winter wind of Michigan.