With her little book, she records people and things, the one she sees every day and those she meets only once. Behind her counter, surrounded by the most beautiful flowers in Philly, she sees them come and go and, over the sound of wrapping paper an...
I found it in an old bookstore. It was at the bottom of a 1$ book bin. With my hands full of 1$ books, I was scavenging in a hurry as the shop was about to close.
-I'm locking the door, miss, said the cashier.
-I'll be right there! I replied and grabbed one last book without looking at it.
I dropped everything on the counter, counted the number I had and pushed a 20$ bill to the man. The man made a nice, neat pile with my books, tied a string around them like it was 1901 and pushed the pile back to me.
-What are you going to do with all these?
-I don't know yet, I replied.
I left the store and ran for the bus that was just stopping at the nearest corner. I jumped in and sat, the pile of books on my lap. That's when I first saw the book. The one I had chosen without looking was the first one on top. Old, the brown cover had one corner that was dark orange, like the color faded due to sun exposure. It was a mere 200 pages book, but, as I look through it, I realized there were no more words after page 21. The rest of the book was white pages after white pages. It wasn't a real book, it was a mending of a book and a notebook. A survivor. As I was realizing that I had bought an anomaly, an old woman with big glasses walked in the bus, grocery bags in the hands. One of the grocery bags broke and apples came tumbling out of it. A young black man wearing a nice button down shirt who was on the phone said "I'll call you back" and ran to help the woman. He picked up her apples and helped her fit everything in the one bag that was still intact. She thanked him and handed him an apple. He smiled and got off the bus at the next stop. While we were waiting at the red light, I saw the same man on the sidewalk handing the apple to a homeless man who was sitting with his dog against a wall. I took a pen and, opening the book that wasn't really one, wrote down what I had just witnessed, "a homeless man just had an apple because a woman chose the wrong grocery bag." That was it, I didn't need more to remember. The next day, I gave the anomaly a name: The Book of People. It never left my side since.
***
I'm cutting the ends of the stems of the sunflower we just received this morning when the front door of the store opens. In walks a beautiful, tall woman, with what seems to be her daughter.
-Hello, how can I help you? I say with a smile.
-We are looking for wedding flowers, my daughter is getting married in a month.
-Sure, give me just a second.
I put my sunflowers in water, wipe my wet hands on my apron and grab our bridal catalog. I place it on the counter in front of the two women, showing them the different categories of flowers.
-We want something classic, like white and pink, says the woman.
A frown appears on her daughter's face at these words.
-Maybe white roses, and pink ones, but smaller.
The frown increases on the girl's forehead. She's only a little older than me, 26 or 27. I catch her pressing her lips tightly together like she's afraid to let some words escape.
-What about something original? I ask.
The girl's eyes meet mine and I can see a spark of excitement.
-No, I said classic, answers the woman.
The spark dies. At that same moment, the woman's phone rings and she stands up straight to answer, like the person on the other line will know what her posture is. She walks out of the shop, talking loudly. When the door closes, I look up at the girl.
-You know, it's your wedding. If you don't like the classical flowers, why don't you say so?
-My mom has her heart set on these. She had white and pink roses at her wedding.
-But it's not her wedding this time, I say.
I make sure to keep my voice soft and light, so the girl doesn't feel attacked or ashamed that she can't stand up to her mom, but supported to make a choice of her own. I flip the pages of the catalog and show her one of my favorite bouquet.
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-This one is a bit more bold than a classical bouquet, but it's still pretty simple. You see, in this one you have peach roses, white chrysanthemum, these little ones are called allium neapolitanum, it's garlic flower. -Garlic flower? She says, surprised.
-Yes, it makes a nice little flower to fit in with the bigger ones and it doesn't smell.
-What about these leaves?
-Dusty miller, this put a little bit of green in the bouquet.
-It's a really nice bouquet, she says with a sigh.
-What if this is the one you walk down the aisle with and you can put white and peach roses on the tables?
-That would be really nice.
The woman walks in the shop and looks at the picture we were looking at.
-What is this? She asks.
-Don't you think it's nice, mom? The daughter says.
-We said white and pink roses. I'll take 8 dozens of white roses and 6 of small pink ones.
The woman hands me her credit card and, when her daughter makes a small noise, like a little scared mouse trying to squeak, the woman stares her down like she's a stupid child. The girl doesn't say anything, I take the card and place the order. It's not my place to say anything, but gosh sometimes I would like to. They leave when I finish taking their infos and I take the book out from under the counter. I write: a woman reliving her wedding through her quiet daughter. I close The Book of People and pick up my sunflowers again.
