Page 5 of It’s Me They Follow

T he Shopkeeper couldn’t stand small talk at break time, so while the others had cigarettes and friendly banter, she crossed the street to the university bookstore to see how a bookstore was supposed to be run.

It had blinding fluorescent lights and a line of coffee drinkers that wrapped around the counter.

This university bookstore was covered in logo’ed socks, shirts, mugs, fanny packs, water bottles, tank tops, key chains; they even had logo’ed boxer shorts and bobbleheads.

Damn, they have it all here , she thought, trying on a too-small hat and too-big gloves. They sold everything.

Everything except for books.

“Excuse me, friend,” she whispered to the person in front of her in the massive coffee line, “where might I find the books?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

So she asked the person behind the counter the same question.

“Well,” said the teenybopper barista, who turned around wearing a Parents Just Don’t Understand T-shirt, “I mean...”

“This is the school bookstore, right?” The Shopkeeper asked again.

“Yeah, I mean, yes. But. Of course. Well. It’s just, like, nobody even... I think there are still books in the back by the restrooms. But nobody goes back there because it kinda, like, stinks. You smell me?” The teenybopper wrinkled her nose.

“No, I don’t smell you.”

“It’s slang.” The teenybopper giggled. “You smell familiar.”

“Is that slang?” The Shopkeeper couldn’t keep up.

“No, it’s not slang. You smell familiar, kinda like deer hide”—the teenybopper sniffed the air—“and incense.”

The Shopkeeper thanked the teenybopper using praying hands, a bow, and her best customer-service smile.

Was this the future? Was she going to end up having to sell her face printed on panties and pouches someday to keep her bookshop afloat?

She’d have to get the bookshop open first to find out.

As instructed, The Shopkeeper followed her nose toward the putrid smell of the restrooms. “You can’t miss it,” the teenybopper had insisted.

In the back, right before the toilets, was one lonely shelf of dust-covered dust jackets—and on that lonely shelf were three stacks of books, and they were all hers, Conversations with Harriett. She hadn’t printed them, and she didn’t know how they got there, yet there they were.

She picked each one up, wiped each one off.

Rubbed each spine. Opened each one up to a different page.

Made them feel seen. And maybe it was the utter funk of the bathrooms, maybe it was the tight hat or the thick dust, but something came over her as she cleaned the last book—and she couldn’t leave her books behind to suffer like that, she thought.

It would be inhumane. So she grabbed all of them, took them to the register.

She would take them back and set them free.

Way back in her teenage years, The Shopkeeper had vowed never to become a book snob, judging people’s shelves and bindings and titles, yet she couldn’t help shaking her head at the state of this university bookstore.

The more no one touched them, the more no one wanted to.

She didn’t know if she was more upset that no one wanted them or that they were there without her even knowing.

When it was her turn at the register, she told the teenybopper, “I’ll take these.”

“These books?”

“Yes, please. All of them.”

“Even this one?” The teenybopper held up a sickly copy with a damaged cover. “It has a broken wing.”

“Especially that one.” The Shopkeeper looked at the time. She would be late for class again. “I’ll fix it later.” The Shopkeeper tried to speed things along.

“I’ll have to ask my manager if we can do that.”

“Do what?” The Shopkeeper asked, annoyed.

“Sell those books.”

“But it’s a booksto—”

“And the hat?” the teenybopper continued. “Want that too?”

The Shopkeeper needed to leave, but she couldn’t leave her books behind. “Nah. These hats are too small for my head.”

The teenybopper picked up the phone and called her manager.

“Hi, sorry to bother you. There’s a lady here; she’s trying to buy all of the.

.. the Conversations with Harriett . Yeah, from the back.

Is that okay? Ohhh... No, I was just double-checking.

It just seemed a bit... Yeah. Odd. Exactly. But okay... Thanks!”

“She said it’s fine,” the teenybopper said to The Shopkeeper, who was growing impatient. “Can I ask you another question? Totally no disrespect.”

“Go for it.” The Shopkeeper looked at the time again.

“Anyone ever tell you how much you look like the lady who wrote Conversations with Harriett ?” she whispered. “She’s a legend.”

A legend. The Shopkeeper wanted to laugh. More like a myth. “Never heard of her,” The Shopkeeper lied.

“But seriously, I mean, you two could be sisters. Word is, she’s opening a bookshop in Fishtown next month. Since you like books and whatnot, you should go check her out.”

She knew the teenybopper was going to try to be cool and kind and hand her a receipt and fist bump, but The Shopkeeper couldn’t risk falling asleep with all those books in her hands—she’d hurt someone. She shifted to the right.

“Nananananaaaa,” said The Shopkeeper. They both laughed, and she wondered if the teenybopper knew that song. “And no thanks on the receipt. But thanks for the recommendation. Peace.”

The Shopkeeper didn’t do crowded elevators. So she waited until she could ride back to class alone. This took a considerable amount of time, and the books only grew heavier.

She rushed in late from break with books piled to her chin.

“For me?” The Good Doctor welcomed her back. “Generous, but you shouldn’t have.” She motioned for The Shopkeeper to put the books down and get back to work.

“It’s a long story.” She wanted to explain.

“It always is.” The Good Doctor rolled her eyes. “Write it down. Okay, now that our resident book lady is back from break, late again with—ding, ding, ding, yeah, you guessed it—an armful of books, let’s go on to the final activity of this evening. For this one, you’ll need a partner.”

The Shopkeeper looked at Ray. Ray looked at The Shopkeeper and stuck out his tongue. The Shopkeeper gave him the middle finger. They both laughed.

The Good Doctor said, turning toward The Shopkeeper, “You’ll be my partner.” The Shopkeeper did not want to be The Good Doctor’s partner, and everyone knew it.

The Good Doctor started. “This is called mirroring. Each of you will stand facing your partner, and for one whole minute, you will practice giving each other eye contact. You and your partner will feel the desire to giggle and wiggle, because nervous laughter helps to reduce fear, but eventually you will relax.”

As instructed, The Shopkeeper stood in front of the room of writers, her chest still heaving from carrying the books.

And now stood eye to eye with The Good Doctor.

The Shopkeeper immediately had the giggles and the wiggles.

It felt like they were meeting for the first time.

Like she was in grade school. She could not look The Good Doctor in the eye, and she could not control her twitch.

The Good Doctor was calm. She’d obviously done this many times before and had no problem connecting.

Eventually The Shopkeeper started trusting in The Good Doctor’s eyes, her skin, her high cheekbones.

She leaned in her teacher’s direction and found her stillness.

They stayed that way for the longest minute.

“Thank you,” The Good Doctor said with a bow when time was up. “There’s a reason why they say the eyes are the window to the soul. How did that feel?” The Good Doctor asked, so The Shopkeeper would share with the group. “One word.”

“It felt... intimate.”

“And on a scale of one to ten, how were you feeling before the exercise?”

“Like a three. My heart was racing, my head was pounding, I was hot...”

“And now?”

“An eight.”

“Because...”

“Because I felt like I did myself a favor by looking at you...”

“Exactly, and you did me the same favor. Everyone else in this class also felt favored. That is what we mean by... touch. It is not all physical, it starts in the mind.

“So, can you commit to finding one person outside of class this week to do that exercise with, someone you’d like to be more in touch with? And then writing about it?”

The Shopkeeper did not know anyone outside of class she could do that exercise with.

“Only if the opportunity arises,” The Good Doctor assured her.

“Only if,” The Shopkeeper agreed.

She was more relaxed than she’d been in years after that. It was like taking off that tight logo’ed hat in the university bookstore—a release.

“Now your turn.” The Good Doctor pointed at the class. They stood up and assumed positions across from one another all around the room.

“And to up the stakes, I am going to invite you to take a step closer to your partners.”

The class wiggled and giggled, but they did it. “Find your stillness.” And after a few seconds, the room fell quiet, silent, still. Even outside noises stopped. The Shopkeeper stared in wonder as her writers’ group touched one another using just their eyes.

Rose was standing across from the six-foot-six stoned kid, and they were both feeling something—she could feel the heat coming off them. “Okay, and now thank your partner using just your eyes,” The Good Doctor said after a minute.

Folks nodded and smiled around the room.

“Noticings. What did YOU notice?” The Good Doctor asked the group.

“I noticed Rose has a dimple,” said the six-foot-six stoned kid. “She reminds me of the Statue of Liberty.” He blushed.

“Very interesting noticing. Have you ever noticed that about her before?”

“No.”

“And Rose?”

“I noticed his... He’s a gentle gian—”

“I noticed I could feel my heartbeat through my shirt,” Ray broke in.

“Exactly, because touch isn’t always about the stimulation of the receptors IN your skin. Sometimes touch is about the ability to let someone feel you from the inside out.”

For an instant, The Shopkeeper felt high, like the sensation she had when she’d first learned to read and realized she could do it by herself. Her world felt larger, her territory increased.

“In another minute, I’m gonna invite you to hold your hands up like so.

” The Good Doctor held her hands up in front of her chest like she was surrendering.

“You’re going to hold them as close to your partner as possible.

” She motioned for The Shopkeeper to stand up and demonstrate.

She joined The Good Doctor, even though she didn’t want to.

“This activity is about CLOSENESS. Choose who is going to lead.

In our demonstration, The Shopkeeper will lead, and I will follow.

“The leaders will slowly begin a gesture and gently start to move around the space; the followers simply mirror the leaders’ actions, keeping their hands as close as possible to one another without touching.

Think about little, tiny changes that take focus to notice.

Remember, you are working together, and it is NOT about tricking your partner into missing a movement.

It is about connecting so you start to MOVE AS ONE because you feel internally what each other will do next.

If you do this right, you two will become in sync, and eventually we won’t know who is leading and who is following. ”

The writers’ group thought The Shopkeeper would say no to this activity; she’d danced like a broken ballerina since she’d learned to walk, and the slightest misstep would mean night night.

This was not her style. But the group was wrong; she was growing.

She started the exercise off with small gestures, waves, winks.

The Good Doctor did the same, but then The Shopkeeper escalated to slow, continuous double arm circles, and soon they were like synchronized swimmers.

Her hand went forward; The Good Doctor’s went back.

Their elbows swayed from side to side, then their knees bent to the ground at the same time, their eyes locked.

They sat cross-legged the same way, and neither missed a step.

They let their bodies trust, and they swayed together on the ground, in sync and just a short distance apart.

The Shopkeeper liked it. It was like she could see inside The Good Doctor, which meant The Good Doctor could see inside her, and even though she didn’t like her very much, somehow, as different as they were, they were also the exact same, and she loved her.

Then they just rested there on the floor for an interminable amount of time, hands a quarter inch apart until the class started clapping in awe.

They thanked each other with their eyes, but their relationship would never be the same.

“Your turn,” The Good Doctor said, turning to the class and pointing her stick at them. They were both blushing.

As the class ended, The Shopkeeper gave a copy of Conversations with Harriett to Rose and motioned to the stoned kid who wrote haikus. “You two should read this together. That might be fun.”

They took turns flipping through the copy with delight.

“Okay,” they agreed.

The homework assignment was to write a letter about their experience in class.

That will be easy , The Shopkeeper thought.

She wrote letters to her sister every day, a game they started in grade school so they could share secrets.

Even though they lived in the same city, they barely saw each other, but still they kept writing.

Their letters kept them close. Luckily for The Shopkeeper, no matter when she sent her sister, Elle, an email, day or night, Elle always wrote back.