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Life, actually…

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TRAWLING FOR DEEP-SOUTH DOPPELGANGERS

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I am playing hide-and-seek today, trawling a flea mall for obscure books to adopt in order to surprise my bookshop customers.

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The thrill of the search distracts me from the unsolvable challenges of daily life.

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The market’s scattered browsers are all looking for their special interests, their fond memories. Me, I look for books and their buddies—documents, periodicals, maps, globes and the like.

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Some books hide themselves in undusted stacks. Some call out to me, others cringe and keep silent.

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Anyhow, I am having fun seeking and adopting these paginated orphans. I  clean them up, inspect and shelve them, pass them on to proper foster homes.

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“Oh, look, Granddaddy used to have one of these in his store,” a musical voice chimes from one of the dealer cubicles.

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It is the voice of my sister. But I don’t see my sister anywhere nearby. I stop to listen and verify.

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“Oh, I had one of these in the third grade,” sister Barbara’s light chuckle accompanies her observation.

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Damn, it really is my sister. What is she doing in this flea bitten place? She lives far away and seldom drives long distances alone.

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Still can’t find her, though I am peeking around corners and through antique displays to see whether I can sneak up on her.

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Her pleasant patter continues but seems to move away from me as fast as I stalk her.

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That laughing voice again.

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I forget about books and strive to see her close up and in person.

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I spot the source of her laughter. A woman her size and shape has her back to me. She is with someone I don’t know. I freeze in place.

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What if she is secretly visiting an old friend and doesn’t wish to be discovered by her baby brother? Is this a relative? A covert lover? Is she living more than one life?

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Finally, my mind stops racing when I see her face. It’s not Barbara. It is merely someone who is identical to her, someone whose DNA has perhaps by chance turned up in a stranger she’ll never meet.

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No use going up to this person to share anecdotes about coincidence and lineage. She just might think I’m a weird little old man seeking conversation. Which I am.

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I slink away to another part of the mall and resume trawling for books, my net cast wide.

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But now and then I hear Barbara’s voice. Now and then I recall the wondrous lives we have led. Now and then I need to hear her voice.

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Guess I’ll give her a call tonight

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© 2022 A.D. Jim Reed

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