Words Without Paper, Part I

Sound poured through the air and into the ears of the congregation from the church bells. Osmond Panithel listened to their beautifully clear rings, then turned towards the altar. He bent one knee before turning and entering the pew, glancing at the program in his hand as he sat. A few moments of studying the “Upcoming Events” section, and he closed it again, placing it gently on the side and lowering a kneeler with his foot. For a few moments he knelt down in silent, personal prayer.

He prayed for himself. He prayed for others. He prayed for the church and all in it, and a part of it. He prayed for wisdom and guidance. After a brief sigh and a glance up at the altar, he whispered an “Amen,” audible only to himself and to whom he spoke. Sitting down upon the pew again, his hands flipping through the pages of a hymnal, he awaited the beginning of the worship service.

Osmond lived for Sundays. There was something, he determined, about a group of people coming together with the single purpose of connecting with the Lord the God of all. It had an imperfect beauty in it. He could think of no place better than this church, a church filled with gloriously bright stained glass windows on either side with an altar of brilliant colors according to the religious season. The pews shone with cleanliness; the rich red carpet had not a stain nor speck resting upon it; the building had an air of warmth all around it. It was both immense and comforting.

He had the distinct feeling of someone other than the Lord watching over him, and turned his head left.

“Hi!” said Dalyn, briefly raising his fingers from his hymnal in a short greeting.

“Good morning,” said Osmond, extending a hand. Dalyn shook it and beamed at him.

“Yes, it’s rather nice, isn’t it?” he said joyfully.

“It’s a shame it’s raining.”

“Pity.” He turned back to the altar.

And indeed it was. To be more accurate, it was damn well pouring rain. The normally brightly lit church took on a tinge of deep blue as sheets of water beat against the windows. Dalyn’s drenched raincoat lay beside him, with a small notebook in an inside pocket kept dry.

Eventually the service began, after a few more minutes of greeting arrivals. The building was nearly empty. Dalyn certainly heard the service, and repeated exactly what he had to say, but to him it wasn’t the focus of his attention. Instead, he found himself looking at the handful of people in the church, watching their heads carefully. At times, when he concentrated enough, he could see a faint glow around them. No color, just enough to know that it was there.

Halfway through the service he turned towards Panithel again as they both knelt down. He’d never really paid attention to the man before, with the exception of a quick greeting before services. Now he could see a faint neon orange around him, quite possibly in the midst of many other colors swirling around in the thin line that he couldn’t distinguish.

Dalyn found the auras intriguing. He couldn’t quite describe it—more accurately speaking, being he was a poet, he probably could, because that’s just what poets do—but it felt as if the smallest crack had been made in his image of the world; a small distortion he could not understand, but nevertheless remained there.

***

Nick was sitting quite comfortably. Leaning against the wall behind him, he reached for the bag of popcorn to his right, not taking his eyes off the screen that sat directly in front. He’d waited for ages to get his hands on a bootleg of Stranger Than Fiction, and nothing was going to stop him from watching it.

A book fell from above.

Some black dude leaned on the Customer Service desk that Nick was using as his personal little cubic space apart from the rest of the world.

He looked down at Nick.

“Bro, you work here?”

Nick stared at him, and nodded his head slowly. The fistful of popcorn froze halfway to his mouth.

“You got a music section, man?”

Nick shook his head and stuffed the popcorn in his mouth. “Firs’ off,” he said, chewing the wad, “were a boo’store. Sell boo’s.” He swallowed. “Second. I’m not your brother.”

“C’mon man—”

“I think you and I both know that I’m an adult, male, human, being. So can we get past that? Maybe?”

“C’mon man, you’re a bookstore. They always got a little section with music. You know. With CD’s, and those ’phones you put on, know what I’m talkin’ about?”

“Yes! I do. Would you like to preview a CD? I have the official music-preview-er right here.” Nick dug into his pocket and got out his iPod, knocking over the bag and scattering half the popcorn. “And here are the official headphones.” Pulling out a drawer underneath where the computer monitor usually sat (as it was now on the floor, displaying the opening credits of a movie), he found man’s greatest gift to the music-listening universe—noise-cancelling headphones. “Here,” he said, tossing them.

The kid caught them and placed them over his ears.

“Tell me when you can hear it,” Nick said, turning up the volume.

“Nuttin’.”

Nick’s finger spun faster around. “Anything now?”

“Nuttin’.”

“Now? It’s at the max. Oh. Wait.”

Compressed waves of sound hammered into the customer’s ears. He jumped and flailed his arms, as if he had difficulty locating his head.

“Sorry!” Nick shouted. “I forgot to plug the ’phones in! How stupid am I? Sorry!”

The pair of headphones flew back down at him.

“Bro! What the fuck? What the fuck?”

“Bye! Come again. Have a nice—oh, look, it’s Ze Boss! Alyssa! What’s going on?”

Nick turned his attention to Alyssa, who was staring down at Nick’s small pit of comfort, littered with wires and popcorn.

“This is what is known as the Customer Service desk,” she said, glaring. “It’s designed for employees to help people. Provide them service. Not for watching porn on the company’s computer!”

“Hey! This is a bona fide bootlegged movie. I’m not that low.”

“You’ve quit and been fired from so many bookstores. I don’t even know why I bother keeping you myself. I don’t even know why the hell you tried applying anywhere with a record like that! Look at the guy that just walked out of here.”

“He thought he was my brother. Leave me alone. Shoo! I can’t find the pause button. Could you pass me the keyboard, I think it’s over—”

“Honestly. A little earlier I saw you put a sixty dollar book back on the shelf. Who’d you let borrow that? Sixty bucks worth of pages? Explain to me why I shouldn’t fire you right now, on the spot. Just give me one good reason.”

“E-excuse me,” said a voice. It belonged, as best as Nick could make out from his perspective, to a lump of brown hair. “I’m looking for a book, an-and it said Service here and I really hope I’m not interrupting anything and I just wanted to know because look if it’s not a good time I’ll go ask someone else but—”

“What’cha looking for?” Nick asked, his voice taking on a friendly quality.

“I can’t remember the title. It’s got something to do with this main character, he’s like sarcastic and all this, and all I know is that it opens with him at a train station and there’s this woman who’s handed a stapled package by some guy she doesn’t know, and the guy’s wondering what’s in it—”

“Anne Tyler. A Patchwork Planet. Turn around. No, just right now, turn around.” The lump of hair turned. “Yes, alright, see the sets of bookshelves across from the display table? Go three to the left, then go two forward, you should be in the bestsellers. It’s on the third or fourth shelf from the top, all the way down, towards the music section. Got that?”

“Yes, thank you.” The hair disappeared.

Alyssa’s facial expression hadn’t changed at all since when she had first appeared at the counter. She was good at that kind of thing, watching her face and body language. Nick simply looked up at her again.

“Because I can do that,” he said. He offered her the bag. “Popcorn?”

She disappeared as well.

“More for me,” he said, returning to the computer monitor.