Moving On

You know it’s time to move on when even his mother is trying to set you up with someone else. Normally, I would have moved on by now. If he had demanded his ring back or had ran off with someone else, then I could have moved on. If I had seen his injuries, if I had seen him laying there lifeless, if I had helped bury him with my own hands, if I knew for sure he wasn’t coming back, then I could move on, but I didn’t. All I got was an officer coming to my door. My Weston always liked to play jokes on me, so no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a joke. How could I move on when it felt like he would come through the door at any moment? Once again, that moment hadn’t come.

I looked back at his mother and we continued to talk. After our chat was finished, we said our goodbyes, arranged to meet again next week, and went our separate ways. She undoubtedly went home. I probably should have gone home too. I really had a lot of work to do, so I needed to go home. The problem was, I didn’t want to.

I walked down the snow-covered streets with a speed that indicated I didn’t care about the cold. I kept on walking. I didn’t know where until my feet stopped me in front of the old bookshop. I hadn’t been in that shop since the officer came uninvited. It was my Weston’s favorite place. I was never much of a reader, so the endless rows of books could not fascinate me the way it did my Weston. Regardless, I would always join him in the small shop, and together we made some of the happiest moments of my life. I never could convince myself to come back here alone, so when my hand wrapped around the cold handle, I surprised myself. The knob whined and the door refused to budge for a moment, but hesitantly let me in. The dust covered shelves and the cold still penetrating my bones gave me the illusion that it had snowed in the shop as well.

“Is that Miss Clover I see over there?” The old man I had known since my youth called out to me from behind the counter.

“Yes, Bookkeeper.” Bookkeeper was the only “name” he would give me even after many years of asking, “It’s me.”

“Where have you been child?” When I reached the counter he wrapped his frail arms around me and whispered softly, “It will be alright my girl.”

I pushed back the tears and after a few moments, he let me go and we exchanged greetings. He was just telling me about his health when he stopped suddenly and remembered he had something for me.

“For me?” What could Bookkeeper have for me? I never bought books, and Bookkeeper never put books on hold anyways, yet in my hands he placed the heavy faded blue book.

Nobody’s Boy by Hector Malot

It had been one of my Weston’s favorite books, but he never bought it, claiming that it felt odd for someone to own Nobody’s Boy. To this remark, Bookkeeper would always claim that he wouldn’t let him back in his store if he would just read the merchandise without buying, and my Weston would claim he would buy it the next time he came in and bought some other book. It was a long joke between him and Bookkeeper. I had foolishly asked one day how he could read such a long book and more than once. He was shocked by my question and thereafter began to read the book to me every opportunity he had, and to his delight and my embarrassment I thoroughly enjoyed it.

“Bookkeeper…” I started but couldn’t find anything else to say. Slowly, I opened the book expecting to see the familiar cover page, but instead I saw a small note.

            I promise I’ll buy this when I come back so please hold on to it for me.
                                                                                                            -Wes

“You’ve been saying that for years.” I muttered. My hands squeezed around the book tightly, and I lifted it to my face almost to cover my tears as I wept bitterly. I managed to mutter “thank you” over and over as I tried to regain my composure. The bell indicating someone had walked in helped me shove down my emotions, and I nodded to Bookkeeper who had been looking to me to see if I was alright. After confirming I would be fine Bookkeeper greeted the customer, and I retreated to a corner of the shop.

I heard his voice so clearly through the words in the book it was difficult to keep tears from my eyes. I remembered how at the end of every chapter he would put the book back and say,

“Ah, that’s such a moving book.”

My body began to tremble, and I looked up at the person who had spoken my thoughts. Most of the man’s face was wrapped up in a snow-covered scarf that was probably only succeeding in making him colder. Although his messy hair was hiding the rest of his face, I could still see deep scares that looked like they could be from burns covering the left side of his face. His burns didn’t stand out as much as the single grey eye staring back it me. That eye looked so sad, concerned, and gentle. He stood up as straight as he could while leaning on a cane with his right arm, but the other arm was nowhere to be seen. He looked nothing like my Weston, but then he spoke again apologizing for scaring me, and I caught myself wondering again if it was him. His voice, although dry sounding, was the same as my Weston. But it couldn’t be him right?

“Are you alright miss?” He spoke for the third time and once again made me believe that my Weston was before me. It was then I noticed how much I had been crying. I quickly wiped away the tears and forced myself speak.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just, I’m sorry you just reminded me of someone just now,” I once again attempted to regain my composure.

“Yes it really is a moving book.”

His eyes seemed to smile sadly at me just like my Weston used to do when he knew I was lying to him.

“I’ve actually been looking for that book for a very long time now. It’s funny how I found it in this small town, but I can see that one is not for sale.” He let out a forced sigh trying to show his disappointment. Then he threw his head back to make me feel bad but followed this gesture quickly with a laugh to tell me he was only joking. Just like my Weston.

“Take care of that book mam, and when you're done with it give it to someone who loves it just as much as you do.” He tipped his hat indicating he was leaving now. He turned to leave dragging his left leg with him. Although I knew it was rude, I blurted out, “What happened to you?”

I don’t know why I allowed myself to ask that question. He wasn’t my Weston. I was just entertaining my fantasy, but still I really needed to know.

“War.”

My heart stopped.

“It was a bombing that hit my team. I was luckily to have made it out. Well, most of me made it anyways. I was mangled up pretty badly, and the burns on my face made me unrecognizable. Then to top it off, the blast banged up my brain. If it weren’t for my tags, I could have been a John Doe.”

“You, you don't know who you are?”

“I didn't at first, but like I said my tags helped me find my family.”

It was possible wasn't it? At least it wasn't totally impossible. This man could be my Weston. It really wasn’t so hard to believe. In fact, I knew it was true. It was him. Although I had no doubts, my body wouldn’t move and wouldn't speak. It just let him say goodbye and leave. Perhaps because I couldn’t be sure that everything around me was real.
“I wish he would have tried to buy something. I would have loved to give him something to honor his service.” Bookkeeper’s voice was all I needed to confirm what I was seeing wasn’t a fantasy and it propelled my body forward. I threw the door open and shouted to him.

“Weston!”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even flinch. That name didn’t belong to him. At least not anymore. No, that name never belonged to him. Whatever he was called, it was not Weston. The man kept walking until he reached the end of the street where a woman and a young child were waiting for him. The three of them together walked further and further away from my sight. My knees collapsed underneath me, and I fell on the snowy sidewalk. I could barely feel the cold penetrating my stockings to my legs. I could barely hear Bookkeeper trying to convince me to get up. I could, however, feel the burning tears rushing down my face, for I knew then what everyone was trying to tell me. I knew then my Weston was not coming back. That he had died on the battlefield. However, there was a different man in this world who would probably read the book I still held in my hands more times than I ever could, and he would enjoy it so much that he'd have to share it with his wife and child. Undoubtedly, the book would make them happy too.  For a brief moment I considered running after the man and his family and giving him the book they would so treasure, but I knew I needed to keep it to remember Weston by.

​Finally, I lifted myself out of the snow and apologized to Bookkeeper for scaring him. I promised I would come back soon and visit him again, but now I needed to go home.