The Yan Used Bookstore

Part One

The world had started to suffocate me. This new global village felt too small to me, and I was desperately trying to squeeze into it like an old pair of high school jeans.

That would be a fantasy.

But the reno-viction notice that I received from my landlord was not. I had a month to evacuate my unit 28. I called my handyman that very same day. He helped me donate the stuff I no longer wanted. And took all the things I wanted into storage. It took us two days and a few trips to finish, going back and forth with his van.

All I left were my clothes, toiletries, and suitcases in the apartment. I also left my mattress. I figured I could eat at the $5 pizza place until I found somewhere to live.

My plan for the next few days was to find a furnished room or a studio to rent. Beforehand, I needed to donate some of my old books to the Yan Used Bookstore. I have always believed that it's a crime to throw away a book, so I walked thirty minutes to the store in the damp autumn weather.

When I got there, I was surprised to see the sign on his door: Emergency, back in 30 minutes. 

I went next door to the grease-joint and had eggs and orange juice. I could not abandon these books. I had to give them to him in person.

I ate my breakfast too quickly and then paced in front of his shop.

Soon, an elderly gentleman opened the door with a warm smile on his face.

It was implied that I follow him to the counter. On the counter, I placed the books I took out of my knapsack one by one. 

He went through them, and he asked me, “How much do you want for these classics?”

“No, I’m giving them to you. I want them to find a new reader.”

“Oh, I appreciate your generosity.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Being a bookworm, I could not resist staying to browse.

When I got to the back of the bookstore, I noticed an open room. It was sparsely decorated. The room contained a single bed, a small bookshelf serving as a nightstand, and a red velvet chair.  A small part of the room had a mini oven and a sink with a few cabinets above. Then there was a divider. I went to look behind. Only a shower and a toilet were provided.

I went back to the counter to ask about the room. He told me that he used to live there before The Yan Used Bookstore became a chain. 

I immediately knew this would be my new home. 

Then my story came out of me without any filters.

He automatically understood me when I ranted about how this world was hurting me too much. I needed a place to disappear, and to only go out at night to pick up food. And how broke I was with the disability payments I had been receiving for my agoraphobiaand panic disorder.

“I could see it in your eyes,” I could still remember him saying, “You have no shield to help you cope with the ugliness of this world.

“I will give you a great deal on the room if you also work for me. It’ll sound strange.”

“Strange is my normal.”

“I need you to dust all the bookshelves every night.”

“You have a deal. I will sleep during the day. I don’t really like daylight.”

“Like a vampire.”

Part Two

When I arrived back at my apartment, I was excited to pack my clothes into three large suitcases. I dragged them down the five flights of stairs. The elevator is my building hardly ever works. I knocked on my janitor’s door and gave him the keys. 

We exchanged no words. I took a taxi back to the bookshop. Before opening the back door of my hybrid room/studio, I transferred my first rent’s money to Mr. Yan. I still had hours before officially starting my job. So, I called my handyman, and we went to get my mother’s paintings from storage. 

The handyman helped me hang her paintings all over the walls. I don’t think there was an inch of wall space left. 

Mr. Yan came to see what all the commotion was about in his old room. He said, “ To each his own.”

I still had a couple of hours to sleep before my shift started at 8:00 p.m. to  8:00 a.m. 

My alarm clock rang at 7:30 pm. I brushed my hair and teeth and washed my face in the kitchen sink.

I went under the cash register to get my cleaning supplies.  

I decided to start dusting from the front to the back. There were 30 shelves, each with 540 books.

I began removing the books and dusted away. I finally took a break at 3:00 am. I had only done half the shelves. I devoured a power bar and somehow managed to finish before my bedtime at 8:00 am. I just went into my room after putting away the supplies, exhausted. I just dropped onto my bed and fell asleep immediately.

I would do this day after day for months. I doubt too many people knew that I still existed. But I still had contact with the government and the bank using my phone. To me, the world seemed too small, but many people thought it was large. I was also afraid of people. I didn’t really trust anyone except Mr. Yan. That is why I was so happy at the bookstore.

My routine continued for months. I lost track of time.

I became so efficient at dusting the bookshelves that I had time to start reading at night. After washing each shelf, I read one of the seven books I had selected for the week, waiting for it to dry. My reading skills had improved immensely. I became a reading machine.

I even started waking a couple of hours before my shift to write reviews of the books that I had been reading. I left little notes in the books. I became a critic.

Mr. Yan was delighted by my initiative. The customers loved searching for books with my reviews, and they bought them automatically.

One spring day, I did not even hear him sneak in to change the furniture. As usual, I sat in the back outside every morning for 15 minutes to get some sun. It was as much of the outside world as I could deal with. I enjoyed sitting in the old, blue, broken-down rattan chair.

Once inside, I was shocked that Mr. Yan bought had bought me a new orthopaedic mattress and a pillow as a bonus.

He found a binder with my mother’s poems. 

“Are these yours?”

“No, they were my mother’s works.”

“I put them under my pillow when I sleep. They give me comfort.”

“I understand. Good morning and goodnight, then, my friend.”

Later that day, I heard loud knocking on my door. I thought it was probably Mr. Yan. But it wasn’t.

Opening the door, I saw a woman in her 30s who had obviously been crying.

“My father had a heart attack and passed away a couple of hours ago.”

I could not utter a word from the shock that I had endured.

It took me a while to say, “I don’t have the words. I loved your father.”

She hugged me and cried. Wails were coming out of her. I held on tight to her to support her. 

“Do you mind if I stay here for a while?”

“Not at all.”

I gave her my bed. 

I put blankets and my winter puffer to serve as my bed and pillow on the floor. As soon as I knew she was asleep, I let the tears come and covered my mouth with my hand not to wake her.

I did the night shift as usual working hard to hold back all the tears I still had left in me.

Part Three

Opening my eyes, I could see that it was noon on my old watch. I could hear customers in the store, so I opened my door to peek. Mr. Yan’s daughter was running the cash register despite having grief exhaustion. 

She noticed me and put up the I will be back in 10 minutes sign. You get 15% for waiting.

Once she was inside my room, she closed the door for privacy. 

“I’m Lisa, and I will be replacing my dad’s day shift. My father left you the ownership of the room in his will. He insisted. He said you were family.”

“I considered him as family, too,” I said as tears rolled down my face.

“As of tomorrow, I am going mute for a year. This is the only way I think I will grieve and heal. I’m getting one of those AAC devices. That is why I am being so curt.”

“Don’t you have an executive position within the company?

“But this is where I belong. I used to work here after school during my teen years. This is my only true home. My mom runs the chain, anyway.”

We both went silent for a while. 

I could feel her getting anxious.

“I have something to tell you that you might not like. I will be putting a mattress on the floor to sleep here at night while you work.”

“It does not bother me at all. But would it bother me if I took a day off?”

“No, of course not,” she said and went back to work.

                                          Part Four

I took a shower and got dressed. After that, I called my handyman to help me remove my belongings from storage. We then transported everything to an abandoned campground outside the city. Once there, we piled all of it into a large mound and began to break everything apart with demolition tools. He even gave me a shield to protect my face.

After putting the broken pieces in the burn barrels, we let the fire transform everything into ashes.

We had brought sleeping bags and attempted to sleep on the top of his van. But we mostly chatted during the night. It was a privilege to be in the middle of nowhere, feeling free and whole.

The next morning, I entered our room from the back, and Lisa was probably already working. Before getting into bed to get some actual sleep, I took my cell phone, and I stepped on it. I had no one else left to call. I felt guilty plopping myself down in the bed, which Lisa refused to sleep in. Suddenly, I noticed that I had forgotten to take my anxiety medication. I decided I could take the pills before my night shift.

Epilogue 

A week later, Mrs. Yan, Lisa, and I spread Mr. Yan’s ashes in his garden behind his first used bookstore. His flowers were his passion. It made me feel safe that he would still be with us, watching over us. And watching over every book and new reader