"Mr. Linden's Library"

This quarter in one of my classes out at Eastern, my professor introduced us to the mysteries of Harris Burdick. The book is written by Chris Van Allsburg, and is a very unique kind of book. It contains fourteen pictures each with a title and one line for the story - that is all. These pictures have prompted many people to exercise their writing abilities and develop their own story for the pictures. My teacher had us do the same. As I love writing, my story ended up being rather long (and I still wasn't completely satisfied with the finished product; however, it was very late at night, and the assignment was due. So I turned it in at the unfinished and imperfect stage that it was at). I chose the picture entitled "Mr. Linden's Library." Here are the resulting words that flowed from my brain. I welcome all comments and feedback! Also, if you are interested in reading any of the other stories here is a site that has many different attempt (a Google search will provide ample results as well): http://www.hmhbooks.com/features/harrisburdick/readers_stories.html

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"Mr. Linden's Library"

 

He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late.

 

 

            Pushing open the front door, the musty smell of books and mystery greeted her as the bell tinkled faintly and the wind tossed the few remaining leaves in behind her. She paused momentarily to contemplate where she should start today. Last week it had been the daring adventure novels. The week before, she had been whisked away into the land of fairytales. As she turned to make her way into historical fiction, she heard a voice behind her.

 

            “Good day, Miss Aslin! So wonderful to see you on this blustery morning.”

 

            “Why, Mr. Cromestad, it is good to see you as well,” she replied. “You are looking fine as always.”

 

            “Thank you, my dear. I had been hoping you would stop by. I have a special surprise for you.” Even behind his white bushy eyebrows, Aslin could see his pale green eyes gleamed with a hint of excitement. The corners of jolly mouth twitched upward ever so slightly revealing his amusement as he started to reveal his secret.

 

            Aslin couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, show me soon before I burst of curiosity! Did you find me a new book? As many times as I have read your entire collection, it is always nice to start a brand new one.”

 

            “Right you are – yes, I have just that and more. A whole collection of new books in fact,” he chuckled as he guided her to the back of the shop weaving around leather chairs and stacks of books waiting to be put back in the right spot. Finally reaching the little back office, he pointed to a small bookshelf sagging with books of all shapes and sizes.

 

            “I know how close you were to Mr. Linden. These books were just given to me this past week, and I knew you would want to be the first to go through them,” he said in hushed tones. “I’ll let you go browse alone. Just call if you need anything, okay?”

 

            She nodded at him with a small smile. Slowly sinking down next to the shelf, she quickly brushed a tear away as it slipped down her cheek. Mr. Linden had been like a father to her in so many ways. After her own father had become abusive, Mr. Linden has taken her under his wing and loved her the way her own father should have. He had no kids of his own and enjoyed spending time with the young girl.

 

They had first met at this very same bookshop when she was just five years old. She came in regularly even then with her mother who had passed on the passion for books to her little girl. It was a snowy winter day that they made their first acquaintance. He had been searching through the shelves for just the right book when a snowsuit clad figure with round, rosy cheeks and wispy blonde hair came bounding into the store with her head turned round to her mother and plowed right into him. He bent over to pick her up off the floor as fear flashed in her eyes for a brief moment.

 

“I see you are rather in a hurry to find a good book, young lady,” he said amused. “Well, so am I, so please help me find a good one.”

 

A smile flashed across her face as she saw that he was not upset, “Sure,” she said, easing in next to him to study the shelf. “I am an expert at picking out books.”

 

“I had a feeling you might be.”

 

And so started a friendship that would not soon be forgotten. It became a weekly tradition for them to visit the bookstore together. The little girl walking hand in hand with the older gentleman down three blocks from his house to the bookshop and three blocks back for milk and cookies and a good story. Each one needed the other – an old man cooped up all alone in his big house and a young girl cooped up in her own little house without a father to love her. Now, fifteen years later, she sat among old friends and memories came flooding back.

 

His passing, not two months earlier, had been one of the hardest things she had ever had to face. There had been such a wonderful camaraderie built between the two of them based on their mutual love of books that even death had trouble tearing apart.  Wiping another tear from her eye, she brushed her long blond hair out of her face as she gazed sideways at the books to read the spines. Each book held a memory. Most of them, they had picked out together in this very store. She would carry it back to his house proudly, plop herself down on the big couch, and spread the book open in her lap ready for him to read aloud to her. As she grew older and his eyesight faded, she began to take on more of the responsibility of reading. The magic of the stories took them to faraway places leaving behind the drab reality to embrace the romance of the yet to be known.

 

Mr. Linden’s library had been so large that it had made the little bookshop appear dwarfed in comparison. Unfortunately, his relatives had not seen much value in the books, and only this small collection remained. Aslin was just glad that these few had been saved for her. She paused over each title remembering the stories as if she had read them only yesterday. Once in a while she would stop to pick one up and loving flip through the pages reading small sections. She became so lost in the books that she did not realize that the sunlight had faded away into dusky night.

 

“I’ll bet you found many an old friend in there – Oh! I didn’t mean to startle you,” Mr. Cromestad quickly apologized.

 

“Goodness, I become too easily lost in the world of books,” she sighed. “It must be about closing time. Oh that’s funny….” Her voice trailed off as she bent down to pick a book up off the bottom shelf.

 

“What is it?” queried Mr. Cromestad.

 

“This book must have accidentally found its way in with the others. All of the books here I know well, but this one I have never seen. It could not have belonged to Mr. Linden.”

 

“Let’s have a look,” he said gently taking the book in hand. As he did, and envelope slipped out from the cover and fell to the floor.

 

Aslin bent over to pick it up and was surprised to find her name written on it in Mr. Linden’s distinguished pen.

 

“Why, this letter is addressed to me!” Ripping the letter open, she began to scan its contents quickly.

 

My dearest friend, and fellow booklover, Aslin,

            I know that the time is nearing when our physical bodies will no longer be together. I do not fear the going away as much as I fear the hurt it will cause you. You have been the source of light in my life. From the moment you ran into me in our little bookshop until now, you have brought joy to all my days. I cannot thank you enough for the many lessons I have learned through the gentle teacher I have found in you, my young friend. This is not the end of the story, Aslin, but just the end of the chapter. Do not be afraid to turn the page. Live your life with the expectation of adventure and write your story so that others will remember long after you are gone. I will always be with you in your heart and as you continue reading.

 

I remain, respectfully yours,

Mr. Samuel J. Linden

 

P.S. This book is a particularly special one. I cannot reveal the secret to you – that you must find out on your own. There are secrets hidden throughout the book that one will only find when least expected. Let me just warn you about reading this before bed, though. One may not want to fall asleep while in the middle of it.

 

            She looked up from the letter to the book in Mr. Cromestad’s hands. It certainly looked ordinary enough. Carefully taking the book from him, she folded the letter and placed it back inside the cover of the book. Together they walked to the front of the store as Mr. Cromestad turned off the lights and locked the place up for the night.

 

            “Let me walk you home tonight. It’s not that far, and it sure is getting dark quickly out here,” he offered kindly.

 

            “Thank you,” she replied. “I shall be grateful of the company.” She hated to admit it, but the feelings of loneliness had threatened to spill over again after seeing some of Mr. Linden’s most treasured possessions.

 

            They reached her soon thereafter and exchanged goodbyes quickly, for the night air had become chilly. Fall had seemed to come to an end and winter was slowly creeping in. Aslin walked into her house to be greeted by the warm glow of the fire and the smell of delicious stew. She had tucked the book into her coat and hurried to her room to put it away. She wasn’t ready to share her treasure with her mother just yet.

 

            “The stew is ready, Aslin. Come eat while it’s warm,” her mother urged.

 

            As they ate, her mother tried to keep up conversation, but she quickly realized that Aslin’s mind was elsewhere and gave up the futile struggle with a shrug and a small smile. This was nothing new for her. Books had a way of preoccupying one’s mind – a fact that her mother knew all too well. So she let it alone, and they ate the rest of the meal in companionable silence.

 

When she had finished, Aslin quickly cleaned up the table and excused herself to her room. She felt that her curiosity would explode if she did not soon begin to delve into the special book from her friend. She closed the door, retrieved the book from its new spot on her shelf, and plopped down on her bed getting comfortable.

 

“I don’t need to be worried about falling asleep like he warned me about,” she told herself. “I’m not even a little bit tired, and there is so much I want to find out about this book.”

 

She opened the cover feeling the familiar thrill of excitement about starting a new book. Mr. Linden had once told her never to lose that thrill because there was always something new to be learned. In a land far, far away…sentence by sentence and page by page, she was whisked away to a magical land with fairies and munchkins where people lived simply and happily. It was not very different from any other story that she had read before, but as usual, she did not have time to wonder about the supposed uniqueness of the book as she was enveloped by the story.

 

Time slipped by, and as it ticked away, her eyelids became heavier and heavier until sleep overcame her consciousness. The clock down the hall began to chime: one.…two…. three…..……ten…eleven…twelve. Everything was quiet. The only sounds to be heard were the tick-tock of the clock and the slow, steady breathing of those fast asleep.

 

Then – it happened! He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late. It started almost imperceptibly at first, but it grew larger by the minute. Vines were slowly creeping out of the book. The longer the vine became, the thicker around it was. They began to intermingle with the girl’s hands, arms, and legs wrapping around her with a firm grip until every inch of her body was covered. Suddenly, her whole body was forced upward with a jerk and feet first, she disappeared into the book. If an onlooker had blinked there would be no trace that anything had happened besides the faint fluttering of the pages of the book.

 

 

 

 

I opened my eyes with a start. Where was I? Looking around, this place seemed somewhat familiar. To my left there was a tall hedge climbing up toward the sky. On my right, there was a bright blue brook bubbling happily downstream with a large willow tree nearby whose branches stretched over the bank and grazed the surface of the water. Had I been here before? I walked up to the brook and peered into the crystal clear water. Why! That was me…no, not twenty-year-old me but my five-year-old self staring back at me in shock. I looked from the reflection to my body and back again. Through the mirror in the water, I was seeing my younger self, but standing there on the bank, I resembled all of my twenty years of age. How could this be? What was happening to me? I struggled to remember how I had gotten to this point, but it was as if my memory had been wiped clear. I could recall facts from long ago, but nothing recent would come to mind. As I stood there wondering what was to be done about my situation, the water started to ripple and slowly a figure began to emerge from the water. Her long, dark hair flowed majestically down her back contrasting with the pure white of her gown.

 

“We had a feeling we might see you soon, Aslin,” her melodic voice caught me off guard as much as the fact that she knew my name. Realizing that I was quite spellbound, she continued, “We have heard much about you from our friend Samuel. He speaks very highly of you.”

 

Somehow finding my voice, I asked, “You know my friend?”

 

She smiled gently, “Yes, he loved to dive into the realm of books to stay awhile with us.”

 

“Why am I here? And how did I get to this place?” I asked hoping to learn a little more about my surroundings.

 

“You’ve been here before,” she stated plainly as if I should remember. “Samuel took you and your mother here on a picnic once.”

 

I looked around again as she said that, and I began to remember things about that day. It was a gorgeous morning in the late spring. The weather had just gotten warm enough to wear lighter clothes, and it was the perfect day for a picnic. Mr. Linden had stopped by our house to ask if we would accompany him on an adventure. Desperate to get out of the house after a long winter, both my mother and I quickly agreed. We found ourselves in this same spot a few hours later with a picnic basket brimming with goodies.

 

“Yes!” I replied. “Oh, now I remember it. I have recalled that day many times wishing that I could have it over again. It was the perfect day with absolutely nothing to spoil it.”

 

“I know you have wished that,” the beautiful woman commented. “That is precisely why you have come here.”

 

Then, without a moment’s notice, she stirred up the brook causing a great disturbance.

 

“Come. Step out into the water.”

 

Hesitant to follow her command but eager to be able to experience my memories once again, I moved forward drawn toward her yet pulling back at every step. My eagerness won out as I found myself standing in the middle of the whirlpool as water swirled up around me. I found myself back on the shore transformed bodily into my five-year-old self once more. The woman was gone, but I could hear voices coming nearer. From around the hedge, two figures appeared. The one was a younger version of my mother, and the other Mr. Linden himself.

 

“I’m getting the chance to relive my memories,” I thought. “This is something that only happens in book.”

I was absolutely ecstatic at the idea. Maybe after I had experienced this, the beautiful woman would allow me to relive all of my best memories.

 

The two figures walked closer to me picnic basket in hand.

 

“Aslin, here: spread out the table cloth so we can have our picnic,” my mother urged me.

 

I smoothed out the fabric on the grass with the help of Mr. Linden. We began to unpack the food. There didn’t seem to be as much as I remembered there to be the first time, but I figured that maybe over the years my mind had conjured it up into something a bit more than it actually was. No matter. I was happy just to be in that spot again with my favorite people. As we were eating, we began to talk, and for some reason my mother’s voice began to take on a tone that I had only heard a few times. She became frustrated at some small thing that Mr. Linden had said and began to nitpick at my eating.

 

“Aslin, sit up straight!” she commanded. “Didn’t I teach you to act like a lady? Don’t take such large bites of food.”

 

Stunned at my mother’s sudden change in manner, I merely conceded, “Yes, mother” and tried to be mindful of my posture and eating.

 

“Well, why don’t you look at that,” my mother moaned. “I knew the weather wouldn’t hold out for us. It’s inevitable that the rain would come on such a spring day.”

 

She was right. In the distance, I could see ominous black clouds form out of nothing. In no time at all, they were upon us and pouring down rain. We hurriedly gathered the remnants of our meal and started running for shelter. As I was running behind my mother, I tripped twisting my ankle and scraping my knee against a rock. Tears began to flow down my cheeks when I felt the water rushing around me and found myself standing next to the brook on the clear day in my normal body again.

 

“Did you enjoy being in your memory again?” she asked.

 

“That could not have been my memory. That day was one of my happiest times. None of that happened the way I just experienced it,” I said, disgustedly.

 

“Are you ready for your next memory?” she questioned seeming to ignore my comment.

 

“Is it going to turn out like the last one? That is something that only happens in books,” I stated. “It’s too cliché to actually happen the exact opposite of real life.”

 

Without an answer, I found myself in the corner of Cromestad’s Books.  I saw Mr. Linden with his nose in a book oblivious to the world around him. I smiled to myself at the familiar picture before me. The bell above the door jingled and in walked my younger snowsuit clad self. I paused to stomp off my boots, and then I allowed my mother to lead me to her corner of the store. We walked right past Mr. Linden without anything more than an “excuse me.” I was confused. Why did we not acknowledge our friend?

 

The image faded out of my sight. I found myself on the bank once again, crying. I felt like Dorothy stuck in Oz desperately crying “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”

 

“They weren’t how you remembered them, were they?” the woman tenderly asked.

 

“No, not at all. He was our friend. We always had fun together.”

 

“There is no way to relive the moments of our lives, my dear. Time passes steadily by and we cannot go back and do it again no matter how fun it was. That is why we must enjoy the moments as we are living them. We can never be successful trying to recreate them.”

 

“I wish there was a way to go back and live them again – happily,” I said regretfully.

 

“That is why books are so special. When we go back and read them again, we can remember the wonderful stories that we loved so much. However, sometimes even those stories can change. We grow up and have a different perspective on life. We can see things a little bit differently through the experiences we have had that have shaped us. Be thankful that your life is not a book read over and over but a new chapter started fresh with new memories to make. Go back and enjoy the memory of the old while looking forward with excitement to the new. Can you do that, Aslin?”

 

I thought about it for a moment. She was right. I needed to be happy where I was in life right now. Yes, it is hard for me to live without my friend, but I still have a lot of life to live and lots of new chapters to start in my book that should also be filled with joyful times.

 

“Yes,” I said with a smile. “Yes, I think I can!”

 

 

 

 

Sunlight peered through the curtains of the bedroom window softly touching Aslin’s face waking her up. She opened her eyes to see the gift from her friend lying closed on her bed. Flashes of scenes played through her head like a movie reel. Had she really been to that brook? Or was it all just a dream?