outside the windows

outside the windows

The woman who came in wanted books on weaving baskets, or on native plants. We had neither, but directed her to the Native American section, where she thumbed through the classics. Her friend stayed in the car. She called for him to come see what she had found, and then one of those odd times at the bookstore clicked into gear. We sat with the pitbull between us, and he told me of the death of his son, his depression. He said he was a step away from "ending it all". I listened to his story and he picked up my large print Bible, reading aloud the verse to which he had turned--something about not being given over to death, but to life. He made a list of things he had to do--eat, sleep, make plans, have faith.
There's something about this place, he said. She said "yes, lots of books". He said, no, something else. I smiled, we shook hands as he left. Be well, my friend, I said. Yes, he said, I'm staying around now.