The Magic of Bookstores

I step over the threshold, letting the heavy door swing shut behind me. In front of me are a selection of small tables, each one piled high with books of every colour, genre and size. Lining the walls are shelves that touch the ceilings, painted midnight with more books on them than I could ever possible hope to have.

There is a quiet mummer of voices; a child asks his mother if he could have just one more book, a man holds a book out to his friend and I stand there, face slightly red from the cold, but warming to the sight of the books that wait for me.

I start to move in between the tables, being careful to avoid hitting both books and people. A quick glance at the bestsellers chart tells me that nothing much has changed in the past week, but then it so rarely does. Books move up and down steadily for months until they are finally past the bookshelf's capacity or until a well-known author makes their claim all over the chart when a new novel of theirs is released.

I step onto the escalator, the gentle whirring preparing me as I get closer and closer to my favourite section. The metal ends abruptly and I am thrown off into a midst of people looking at various biographies and sporting annuals. I meander around yet more tables, these only one book high to make the pieces of wood seem less crowded.

Then I turn a corner and I am on another escalator, this one travelling slightly faster than the other. I'm not sure if it actually is or if it is just the rise in my levels of excitement.

As I near the top I see the stripe of green paint that signifies how close I am. On reaching the top I take a sharp right and float between various cookery books. Slipping between a mural of cartoon children lounging in a tree while reading, careless, and an array of local history books, I find what I have been looking for.

My eyes are instantly drawn to the half price table; I can never resist a bargain. I start to search for various authors and titles, books that I have been after for a while, but have never had enough money on me when they are in stock.

Once I have worked my way around the table, I make a mental note of any books that have grasped my attention and move onto the next. As I travel round, I gently pry a few from their resting place to read a blurb or to submerge myself in the first few pages. Every time I put them back, I feel my heart clench in sorrow, but I remind myself that now I know about their existence I can always come back for them all when I have just that little bit more with me.

After reaching Z on the alphabetical shelves, I take a step back and remember the books that I made a mental note to go back to earlier. I work my way back round, but before I am even a quarter of the way round my circuit, I realise that I already have a lot of books resting on my forearms and if I haven't already passed my budget, then I will be doing so soon.

I sigh reluctantly and head over to the counter. Luckily there is only one person in the queue ahead of me and it isn't long before I'm resting the books on the smooth counter and reaching for my purse. The man serving me tells me that I have made a good selection and after I hand over my money in exchange for my purchases he says that he hopes I will enjoy them. I smile and give him my thanks before turning away from the counter; my purse considerably lighter, but a satisfying weight on my fingertips.

I opt for the stairs, hearing each beat of my shoes against the wood until I reach the ground floor once again. I pass the same tables and shelves, but a new selection of people. I push open the door and smile as the bitter winter air greets me.

-E