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On a cool afternoon in September while the fallen, autumn leaves swirl in the streets, Amber casually strolls home from school. She is a strawberry-blonde fourteen-year-old with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. On this particular day, the young beauty decides to take the longer route home through the center of town.
While walking down the main street, Amber's body slams itself into a large sign on the sidewalk that proclaims, "Grand Opening!" She quickly looks to the building to which the advertisement is pointing. To her amazement, it is a brand new bookstore. She is thrilled because she is an avid reader and is in need of a new novel. A small paper in the window states, "Pre-owned books for sale or trade." Noting that the establishment is open for business and finding some money in her purse, Amber decides to enter. As the teenager opens the glass door, small silver bells jingle merrily above her head. When she glances up to see what has caused the sound, she is startled by a voice that screams, "May I help you, or are you just in here to kill time and cause trouble?" "I just came in because I have a little money and I was looking for something different to read," Amber answers. "Because you have older novels, I decided to have a peek." She looks around the quaint shop to discover from where the voice has come. Her eyes fall upon a small woman whose face and body are ravaged by age. Her graying hair is knotted and limp, and her hands are bunched up by arthritis. She is sitting alone in a corner of the room, a blank expression in her eyes. "Well," the female grumbles, "if you find anything you are interested in purchasing, ring the little bell on the front counter. My grand-daughter, Chrystal, will ring up your purchases." The wrinkled woman returns to her staring, a pained look now on her tired face. "Thank you," Amber replies weakly. She ponders whether it is worth giving this crone her business if she is going to be so rude to a new customer. Deciding that it is too much effort to be civil, the young lady walks to the front door but noting a particular book from the corner of her eye, she stops and turns slowly to her left. She sees the small, leather-bound novel standing on a shelf among many larger publications. She picks it up and reads the title to herself. Amber decides to buy it, and rings the little bell on the counter. A slight "ding" fills the room. Almost instantly, a younger girl arrives at the desk. She is a sickly-looking teenager with jet-black hair and sadness in her ice-blue eyes. "Is this all you will need to purchase today?" Chrystal asks softly. "Yes, but if you don't mind me asking, why does your grandmother have such a difficult time being polite to people who are coming to buy her books?" queries Amber softly. "When my grandmother, Agnes, was younger, she loved to spend time on her porch swing, reading these stories," Chrystal answers. "But unfortunatly, she can no longer do so. She has lost her sight, and she is unable to see the words on the pages." Chrystal pauses, her voice breaking with emotion. For a moment, Amber sympathizes with the older woman's plight, but soon remembers how rude she was. After purchasing the book, she hurries home as fast as she can, eager to start reading. She rushes up the stairs and into her bedroom. After one look around the familiar surroundings, she relaxes and settling down on her bed, she begins to read the novel. As she is turning the pages, a fifty dollar bill slides out from between the pages and lands on the bed, unnoticed. An hour passes quickly and upon hearing the front door of the house close, she pauses to listen. There is a jingling of keys between the sounds of footsteps walking towards the living room. After she discerns the thump of a rear-end hitting the couch and the tinkling of keys tossed on the coffee table, she hears a familiar voice. "Amber, Eric? Is anyone here? I'm home from my business trip and I want to know how everyone's week went," Amber's mother, Susan, hollers from the living room. "I'm coming mom!" Amber answers as she slides from the bed and hurries downstairs. After sharing the events of the past few days, Amber returns to her room to retrieve the book she had bought from the store earlier. Glancing at the bed, she finds a fifty dollar bill lying on the bed. She peers at it and wonders from where it came. She then looks at the book. "It couldn't have," she mutters, but it is the only logical explanation. "That little old woman could really use this money," Amber thinks. "Even if she was rude, I shouldn't take advantage of her like this." She hurries down the steps and pausing a moment to let her mom know where she's going, she grabs her bicycle from the side of the house, leaps onto the seat and pedals her way toward the center of town. When she reaches the store, she parks her bike and quickly goes to the door. Slowing her steps upon entering the establishment as to not draw the wrath of the owner, she walks to the back where the little old lady is seated and quietly asks if she may speak with her. "What do you want?" Agnes grumbles. "I already told you what to do Chrystal." "I'm not your grand-daughter, ma'am. I'm the young woman who was in your store earlier today. My name is Amber," she answers quietly. "Well, what did you come back for? To take more of my precious books?" Agnes responds, her anger shifting to sorrow. "It wasn't my idea to sell them you know, it was Chrystal's." "I came to return something I found in the novel that I bought this afternoon," Amber explains. "It was shoved in between the pages." "What is it?" Agnes asks. "It's a fifty dollar bill," Amber replies. "I felt that your grand-daughter may have missed it when she was preparing the books for sale." Unable to speak, Agnes thanks her by giving her a large hug. Tears stream down her wrinkled cheeks and moisten Amber's blouse. Touched by the woman's gratitude, Amber makes a generous offer. "Maybe I can come over here after school every so often to read some of your stories to you. I have many books at my house also and, if you'd like, I could bring some of them too." "Oh, my," Agnes replies, tears of joy streaming down her face, "what a wonderful thing that would be. Chrystal is so busy with the store and all, I could never find it in my heart to ask her to do such a thing. Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" "It would be my pleasure," Amber beams. "It seems we both love books, why shouldn't we love sharing them with one another?" At 3:00 each afternoon thereafter, the silver bells jingle as Amber steps over the store's threashold. Agnes re-discovers the pleasure that can be found between the covers of a good book, and her young companion finds pleasure in passing time with a new friend. |