Chapter 22
The Puget Sound Book Company
101 South Main Street??Seattle, WA 98104
7/20/92
Dear Frida,
Another late night at the store. After my front counter shift, I finished doing inventory. Tonight I checked my cooking section. We need to reorder The Silver Palate Cookbook again, and somebody finally bought the ragged little booklet about cooking with roses. I won’t reorder that one. According to my printout, it’s been languishing on the shelf since 1987.
Now I’m at the information desk. Roy’s sitting across from me. Have I described him to you yet? He has huge brown eyes and this booming laugh that doesn’t match how slim he is. He’s been reading Denise Levertov’s poems out loud, and he has the most soothing voice. It resonates through I call him the Bee Whisperer. Denise lives here in Seattle, and whenever she comes in, Roy talks to her about her poetry like she’s a regular person. I feel fuzzy when an author even smiles at me.
The travel section is in the alcove behind me, and poetry, essays, and fiction are in the sections behind Roy. All along the shelves, little index cards stick out, kind of like the Tibetan prayer flags hanging in the Eastern religion section. They’re our staff recommendations. They make me think of messages in bottles, except instead of calls for help, they offer help to the person who needs that specific book right now. I think being able to recommend the right book at the right time is one of the most important things I can do with my life. I really hope I’ll write a novel that will be the exact book a person needs at a certain time in their life.
I don’t know why I wrote about the store tonight. Sometimes I just get this urge to describe a place. The other night during one of our midnight tea-and-talk marathons, I told Sven what you said about how maybe it’s because I moved around so much, and that made me extra observant. He thinks it’s a good theory but there might be more to it. Like I have a need to pin places down to help me feel safe. When I asked him safe from what, he said the vulnerability of my unpredictable childhood. I never thought about my childhood being unpredictable, but I guess maybe it was. Sven reads every author who does a reading at the store, and when he was talking to this one about her ideas the other night, she told him she’s never felt so articulated. He really does have an ability to articulate things in ways I’ve never considered before.
I also think maybe I’m avoiding your news about Niko. Of course I’m excited that he wants to take you to Sarajevo, but I’m scared for you, too. Do you know when you’re leaving?
Love,
Kate