An Anomaly in Broken Cycles

Hastily, I made an effort to squeeze pass the cold air that lingered outside of my car. From the parking lot to the bookstore entrance, I performed a comically inelegant jog, to reach the satisfaction of a warm breeze and the old styled, familiar smell of aging books. Greetings from the employment flew at me as fast as the warmth did, eliciting a similar feeling as well. I moved swiftly to the back of the shop, where I knew silence and comfort awaited me in the shape of a shifty desk and a lopsided chair. Holding my folder that was seemingly organized began to show its true identity, with crumpled papers and messy sticky notes slipping out.

            Directly after collapsing into the chair, I looked to my right to see an elderly woman in a wheel chair, exiting the through the elevator doors that were as dependable as the fading lights above me. Regardless of her safety, she rolled out with a smile that shined with naivety and kindness. She looked up at me with out saying a word, and before I had a chance to break the silence, she was wheeling herself to the other side of the room.

            With every visit I had here, she was the anomaly. The smell of the books, the cashier, and the broken elevator were familiar but she was new, despite her age. I felt a glimpse of anger in my body from her arrival. She had disrupted the monotonous comfort of being here, while distracting me from my work. I saw the irrationality in blaming her for my small attention span and reluctance to be productive, and shunned the sliver of anger out of me and replaced it with inquiry.

            Leaning out from my seat, I peered around the corner to see this woman’s business. She sat in her wheel chair, and stared out in front of her. Nothing lay before her, except the blank wall colored with the same plainness that the rest of the store was painted with.

             After refocusing myself to the unopened folder on the desk, I glance at my watch, wishing it had fooled me. Forty-five minutes had passed, and I had only gained curiosity in an elderly woman.

           

            The next morning I arose with a different feeling. Curiosity had my attention and I was leaving the house at the exact same time as the previous day, only in hopes to catch the wheeled woman. The elderly bandit who stole my productivity.

            Upon my arrival, I ignored the cold air, the cashier, and the lights that had gone out in the front sign. I jogged to my spot of disrupted monotony, looking for the woman who was the only connection to my present self and my youthful being. She made me wonder, when it was that I fell into such a boring cycle of tedium.

            I sat there, in the back corner of the broken down book store, novel in hand with a no attention to the ripped pages that had become routine. To my right, the shoddy elevator door opened and closed and opened and closed, with no one to enter or depart.