Her Name Was December

Day 2

The girl swept into the bookstore with even more grace on December 20th. Her hair was worn in a different style today; the stems of her glasses were covered by medium-length locks of silky blonde hair. A black beanie rested atop her head, and her hair fell from it in golden waves. Greyson watched it bounce around with her every step, and wondered how soft it would feel between his fingers.

He found her sense of style unique, in a good way. Today, she wore thick black tights under khaki shorts, and the thick cream sweater she wore seemed a size or two too big. A tan leather bag hung at her side, and it tapped her leg as she wandered around the fiction aisles once again.

She took a book off of the second shelf as if she'd known exactly what she was looking for, and sat down at the table diagonal to the counter once again. As if in routine, she opened the bag at her side and pulled out the same three items as she did the day before. The leather-bound notebook was first, and after untying the strap and opening to a blank page, she set it on the table to the right of the book she'd chosen. Greyson failed to notice the black pen she had tucked behind her ear, but she pulled that out from under the beanie and set it on the journal, pushing strands of hair behind her ear to replace it. Lastly, a half pad of post-it notes were pulled out of the front pocket of her bag.

What a dull color, Greyson thought. The post-its were a very light yellow- so light that they could be mistaken as white.

This girl worked like a machine; her routine was the same as it was the day before. She set her now empty bag down underneath her chair, and opened to the first page in her book. She rested her elbow between the two pages as she read, and her hand covered her mouth, fingers curled around the edge of her shirtsleeve. Her left hand held the pen, her thumb tapping against the book to the beat of whatever song was playing in her head.

Occasionally, she would take notes in the book, scribbling fast cursive into the margins. Sometimes, she would stick a post-it note onto a page, ripping it to fit a certain size first. She was constantly turning to the journal, though. After an hour had gone by, a half page was filled with whatever she was writing in black ink . Greyson didn't say anything when she wrote in the book. He knew that his boss might see it as some sort of vandalism, but whatever this girl was doing seemed too important to interrupt.

Greyson had picked a random book off of the shelf, and was now standing behind the counter trying to read it. (Keyword being try.) He found it extremely hard to focus on Huckleberry Finn's adventures with this mystery sitting ten feet away from him. He tried his hardest not to look at her, but every time he saw her out of his peripheral vision moving from the book to her journal, he felt like he was missing something extraordinary if he didn't.

He was flushed with both relief and disappointment when he heard the familiar ring of the bells above the door.

In walked a woman with two children. They ran excitedly back to the kid's lounge, where four shorter shelves were lined with children's literature. The woman smiled with delight and followed them. Greyson was close behind, imitating the same happiness in his smile, eager to focus on anything else but the girl with the odd sense of style and a routine to follow.