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?