#gvse

It's a rare weekend off in the Chicago suburb Gregor lives in now. After years of trying to distance himself from the sudden rise and fall of fame, he feels at peace in a new place. New, now that's ironic. Perhaps even his legacy. To be constantly on the cusp and to simultaneously be the first to fall. What luck to have. What a life to live. At least in his new favorite bookstore, he doesn't have to worry about all that. All the books here have been well loved by all who have owned them, and will be by whomever shall choose them next. The store is familiar. The old man who owns it is like family, and Gregor, or Greg rather, is a regular. Even your presence is constant in this facet of Greg's life.

When Greg first found this shop, he was issued this warning:

There is a woman upstairs who likes to sit and read in one corner.

DO NOT DISTURB HER.

She is my granddaughter, and she was taken from our family too soon. Her spirit is here because this was her safe place from all the bullies at school.

Let her read. She will come and go as she pleases.

She means you no harm so long as you don't upset her.

What the old man and Greg hadn't expected however was that you'd get attached to him. It's not that you followed him home or anything. It's that you actually interact with him. Much like you, Greg has created his own little reading nook up on the second floor of the store. It's actually on the same side of the room as yours. The first few times seeing your translucent form was jarring, but after a while his brain seemed to ignore that you weren't solid. Almost filling you in mentally so that his brain wouldn't melt. That's when you started moving around him. He could hear books sliding on and off shelves. The creaking of floor boards from added weight being applied and then removed. After about three or four months, you appeared in front of him. A quiet hello passing his lips. And you've joined at the hip ever since.

Of course you couldn't express yourself vocally. You were using too much energy just manifesting yourself. Instead, every morning you'd leave a note for Greg to answer. You started with names, hometowns, and occupations. You told him how you died. Asked how he lived. He told you he made a deal with a demon-like creature, but was saved. He changed his ways and moved from L.A.. You ask him simple questions and difficult ones. Just a fun trivia session to look forward to. Then you started leaving books. Selections you felt you should recommend to your new friend. Each one read and a review given.

With every passing day, your existence is both filled with joy and dread. You love every moment spent with your grandfather and Greg, but you long to be alive again. You hadn’t meant to fall for him. He’s just been so kind and understanding of your situation. How could you have not fallen? Even your grandfather has picked up on your woeful emotions. Weary of your growing feelings. Greg seems blissfully unaware. You tell yourself that you need to move on. That he can’t be yours. Then he walks in with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You hide from sight to watch him climb the stairs. He walks to your corner of the room and places them on the little table kept there, next to your chair. In the flowers is a card with your name on it. When Greg moves away, you approach to take the card.

Good morning Angel,

Today is the anniversary of your passing. At first I was going to leave these at your grave, but then I thought ‘why should I do that when I’m going to go see you today?’ So I brought them here instead and wrote this card for you. A reminder that even though I can’t hold you in my arms, I hold you in every story you give me. For you are my heroine, my princess, my home between the bookshelves, and I hope I am your man in every story you read. I thank whoever allows you to stay among us because somehow they knew we I still need you. 

Yours if you’ll have me,