Anomaly in Abnormality, Part III

And then there was the Poet.

It began one morning—after all, everything begins one Something—when Cadby and Nick were sorting through boxes of books that had just come in.

“Are you coming to movie night this Friday?” Nick asked, slapping another two books on top of a growing stack of titles such as “Windows Made Simple,” and “Learn C++ in 24 Hours.” Amazing how much fiction sold.

“Yeah, I think so,” Cadby said, grabbing a few books and putting them on display. “What’re we going to see?”

“Oh, I thought Borat might be good,” Nick said. “Someone else is joining us. He’s a Regular, in a way.”

“How’zat?”

“Well, he’s… peculiar, and he’s been here before. I think that’s about half the criteria, isn’t it?”

“How’s he… peculiar?”

“He’s a poet. The insane kind.”

From his limited knowledge of literature, Cadby asked, “There’re others?”

“I’ve heard rumors of ’em, I think. Anyway, he just burst into the store one day asking for ‘great literature’ or something like that.”

“That’s not too weird.”

“No, but when you look like you’ve swallowed a pot of espresso, that’s pretty interesting. And then I found him the next day, back here, unconscious in a chair with books all over the place.”

“That’s one damn determined guy.”

“Another d and that’d been alliteration.”

“Allit-what?”

“Don’t ask, it’s a book word. So I stole the guy’s notebook and it’s pretty obvious he’s a poet. Then he comes back again another day thinking he’s got a medical condition, so I kept an eye on him waiting for him to spaz out.” Another few books on the cart.

“Did he?”

“Well, after I tried to rip God out of his brain, a little. He sees auras around people.”

“That’s kinda bizarre,” Cadby noted, grabbing another armful of books.

“Don’t put those out. Put ’em over there, we’ll shelve ’em later. And yes, excellent deduction, Watson.”

“Who?”

“Watson. Jesus Christ on a stick, you need a serious injection of either books, common sense, or maybe just life. Doyle. Holmes.” It didn’t register. Hell, Cadby’s register was locked and bolted when it came to this stuff. “Oh, never mind. Put those on the cart.”

“So this poet is coming with us? What sort of stuff’s he write?”

“Poetry,” Nick said simply. “At least, that’s what I think. You can ask him when you meet him if you want.”

“So why’s he coming with us on movie night then?”

“Haven’t I given you enough reasons already?” Nick asked, and left it at that.

***

Back in what Cadby groggily considered the present, he sorted through a small heap of books collected the day previously from various places they shouldn’t have been. Ah, here was a biography. Hmm. Ea, El, F, G, skipping down… yes, there it went…

Something occurred to him, which didn’t happen often when he got less than eight hours of sleep. He walked over to where Jade was finishing a table of books and asked her if she had any clue about the Poet.

“Yep,” she said, straightening the piles, “Dalyn. He’s coming with us to movie night. You coming?”

“Yeah, I am. But, question. Why?”

She shrugged. “Who knows, with Nick,” she said.

Cadby had read something once, in a magazine, about smiling. There’s a way to tell the difference between a real smile and a fake one. It wasn’t something in the lips that gave it away, but the eyes. The eyes smiled more than the mouth, he recalled. Something like that. And even though Jade’s statement sounded innocent, her eyes were smiling.

Regulars came and went, usually on a regular basis. Some Regulars he’d known from the beginning, other ones just showed up every once in awhile. But this new one, the Poet, he’d never seen, and apparently it all happened recently. So what was irregular about this Regular?

Not this early in the morning, sighed his brain. Maybe later. But we are not thinking before noon, you understand?