Episode 1: Cold Books

I shivered at the checkout counter wishing the store owner would fix the heater. It had been broken for two weeks, but anytime I brought it up I would get the same annoyed look and be told, in the shrillest of tones, to 'bring my jacket' or 'use my fat'. Just because I wasn't a size '0' didn't mean I was fat. I had muscle and meat on my bones, not just wrinkled skin like that old hag.

She also had a few choice words when it came to my choice in music for the store, but she usually called ahead, so I quickly changed my "Devil's Drivel" to something gospel. Once she left, I'd rock out again.

I tried to warm my pale, shaking hands in time to the Black Veil Brides, but I wasn't having much luck warming up.

'I don't know why Mrs. Hartford insists on being so cheap. She owns a few hotels and restaurants. She has more than enough to fix this small bookstore. Yet, all she wants to do is bitch any time she sees my outfits or lecture me about God.'

“You dress too risky and ungodly,” her gravelly voice echoed in my mind.

'I'm sorry, I like band shirts and skinny jeans and I wasn’t gonna give that up for some boomer. Plus, I have boobs and an ass, not like that’s easy to hide…'

Though, it didn’t matter what I wore. If it wasn’t unflattering ankle skirts with a long sleeve blouse, she always thinks you're asking for it. I even wore sweats to work once and got yelled at because “I look homeless” and that was “worse than what I normally wear”.

I got so fed up with her that I got rid of my bangs and cut my hair into a pixie cut, exposing all my piercings. The blue dye job was the cherry on top. The anger on her face was worth it.

Though, to keep my job, I had to dye it back to brown and now “I must have long, natural colored hair and take out any and all piercings” according to the new dress code. It was gonna take months before the hair part was going to be a reality. At least the piercings were old, so they weren’t going to close up overnight, but my ears and eyebrow felt so naked.

'Eh, still worth it.'

Oh, and don't even get me started on her bible-thumping lectures and constant church invites. It got so annoying; I actually went this past weekend. I had hoped it would earn me enough brownie points to get some heat in the store. Nope. All it did was waste four hours of my weekend with lectures about tithes.

"Tithe is not tied to your income level." "Plant the seed for more income." "Money is the Devil in your pocket. Cleanse yourself."

It was a truly dumbfounding experience. I don't know why anyone would listen to those greedy pastors. The last time I checked money was not the Word of God. In fact, Jesus says to share with everyone and prefers to be penniless. Shouldn't the church follow the example of giving instead of taking?

I sighed; all these thoughts made me miss my old church. When I was younger my parents took me to church all the time. I was in choir, bell choir, an acolyte, bible study, vacation bible school, took communion, and went through baptism and confirmation. I had debated on becoming a sister at one point, or a pastor; if they would allow it.

I loved the community and the makeshift family I had there, but I started to lose my faith when my friend Kris came out as Gay. They attacked him and shunned him. They even threatened his family and mine when I refused to stop hanging out with them.

Shortly thereafter, my parents switched churches, but the next one was no better. They were greedy. The one after that was all about "you're going to hell if you don't do XYZ".

My dad kinda gave up on church and exchanged it for community service at the food bank. My mom picked up some new hobbies. We never told my grandparents. As far as they know we go to church every Sunday.

What we do instead is go out for a quiet brunch while everyone is out. The Sunday I went to church with Mrs. Hartford was the same Sunday my parents were out of town, so I just lost time alone; not time with my parents.

I shivered again.

'I really need a coffee break to warm up. Did I even have lunch today?'

My friend Kris did own the cafe down the street, and I didn't mind spending my money there. I looked around the store to make sure no one was browsing and checked the restrooms. Once I was in the clear, I grabbed my bag and the keys to lock up, but in my haste, I caught a box of mixed books.

The new additions to the store came tumbling down in a great spectacle. I sighed, frustrated with myself for my carelessness, and at Mrs. Hartford for continuously buying second-hand and new books that we had no room for. She would only ever buy religious romance, bibles, or other religious based books. Though she had relented and added fiction to the collection, so we could make ends meet.

Setting down my bag and keys on the checkout counter, I got to work cleaning up my mess. Normally, I'd organize them as I cleaned to make the work easier when I returned, but my growling stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten at all today. I started just tossing the books in the box, but stopped when I noticed two rather odd purchases for Mrs. Hartford.

One book was all black, with no title, no author and had an oddly designed gold cross. The top of the cross wasn't a line. It was oval in shape. This was a clasped book with a broken lock. It didn't strike me as a normal bible and probably would need some research on my end to price it correctly.

'Under my counter it goes.'

The other odd book had the Virgin Mary on the cover but depicted her in a way I had never seen. It had her on the cover three times. Once was her as a young girl, the second time was her as a mother holding a baby, and the final time was her as an old woman holding a cane. Beneath the three images were three moons that almost looked like one symbol. It was a Waxing Moon, a Full Moon, and a Waning Moon. Again, there was no title and no author. I put that one under my counter beside the odd bible and finished cleaning up the mess.

Grabbing my stuff once more and setting the time on our closed sign, I locked it up for a well-deserved lunch. I would be back in an hour or two and I could guarantee the store would still be dead when I reopened. No lines and no lost business here. After all, people were only downtown during the touristy summertime. During the fall and winter, you were lucky to see one person a week.

The frigid wind raced down my back causing me to erupt in goosebumps. A hot soup and a rich Caramel Macchiato coffee were calling my name as I raced down the empty street.