Post by Cy Skywalker on Jun 6, 2006 7:14:55 GMT -5
I
I came around a corner of the stacks and there he stood. I instantly worked switchwise and put my back against the Forgotten Realms series, all tense from the proximity of both Plots and people. For that first look he was just a striking-looking teenage boy. Thoughts of appearance and ego imprinted themselves on my consciousness like flashes. He stepped around the shelf and I realized he was my charge.
“Oh, hi.” Step away from the shelf... “Welcome to our world.”
He wore all gentle black, held himself with a sure assurance, and was considerably taller than me with similar build. I had practiced pinning my gaze to his face. It looked familiar in a way, blonde hair long to the nape of the neck, blue eyes with the words almost visible beneath them, neat close beard barely noticeable but scruffily accenting his strong lines.
My preordained words stuck between us; I could manage no more until I looked an inch over his shoulder. “Sorry.”
His voice too was somewhat familiar, nuanced with a cant of the head like a kind nod. “I understand. It must be hard for you, knowing so many.”
“It is. Trouble within close Plots...hurts us. Ah, come with me. We’ll go for the tour.”
He nodded with deference. I nervously took his hand and led him out of the sci-fi section, reassured by his grip.
II
Outside the bookstore he asked questions about many things. He had been briefed on some aspects of the real world. The concern was purpose.
“What happens in that building, that McDonalds?”
I knew to expect this. “I don’t know. Many little things.”
“Nothing crucial? Than why is it there?”
“To feed the people as they go about their lives.”
He shook his head and sighed as we crossed the sunlit parking lot. “How ever do they go on, without a structure to their lives?”
The old fear of complete independence came in me; I wondered without purport whether he could feel it. He asked what I am sure people all over the world, this world, ask themselves. “They just go on.” I said. “I have come to believe that they are stronger than fictioneers.”
“And your kind the strongest of all.”
I looked up at him. “Why? We know structure exists. Out mundane lives allow some of us to find your people.”
“Exactly. You know what is, and can not have it.”
I nodded mutely.
We kept walking along the sidewalk, now beside the many clean small stores. He was fascinated by the number of diverging people and by the detail in the store or brick or shingle buildings.