Mean looking woman from social services in her
grey wool coat and pretty gloves, she grabbed
her, shoved her in the car. Carla cried and
pounded her tiny hands against the window as
they drove away. Daddy! Orphanage.
Punishments. Her new father John. And her
new mother Sandy who frightened her. The day
John died in a car accident. Sandy sleeping
through the days, months, years... drinking and
smoking and shouting at her, waking her up in
the middle of the night just to blame her for
everything. Daddy's smile. Fire. I shouldn't have
left daddy. Fire! Fire! It was not my fault!
Carla sat down, exhausted by the memories,
still holding the vase in her hand. Her eyes were
glassy and distant. She sat there, quietly.
Staring at the wall. Staring at nothing. After a
while, the images and voices left, and she
bowed her head. Tears ran down her face. She
coughed, just to open up her paralyzed airways
and wiped her eyes like a mourning widow,
took a deep breath and got up. She knew
where to put the roses now. She walked up to
the biggest wooden drawer, rearranged some of
the photographs and lowered the vase in the
middle of them. There. Her hands were shaking
and she rubbed them against her thighs. Calm
down, Carla.
She gazed upon the photographs, the familiar
faces: men, women and children. She touched
some of the frames gently and smiled at them.
Her family of strangers. She had bought the
pictures from an antique store when she arrived
in Waleford as a young girl. She had gathered
money for a long time to run away from Sandy
who over the years became more and more
abusive. She stayed with the woman she could
never bring herself to call "mother" until she
was old enough to take care of herself, so the
police wouldn't track her down. Not that Sandy
even notified them. She was probably happy I
left. But life in a new town was still lonesome.
She didn't know a soul and because she was
socially awkward, secretive and enjoyed a
solitary existence she never really met anyone.
Then one afternoon she entered an antique
store on her way home, just to admire the
beautiful things. And she discovered a bunch of
old photographs for sale. Right then and there
she decided to create a family of her own. She
went through all the photographs and selected
the ones that made her smile, over time she
bought frames and scattered them all around
her then stoic apartment. She named each one
of them, imagined they were her aunts and
cousins and what else. She created entire life
stories for them, and most importantly,
memories where she had been happy with
them.
All her life Carla had felt alone, ever since the
fire. And maybe because of the explosion, she
always hated loud noises. Her love of silence is
partly why she ended up working for Mr.Morris
secondhand bookstore. Her first job as a
secretary didn't support her very well, especially
because she wasn't very good at it. She kept
making mistakes and got into trouble for all
sorts of things. She never got a proper
education because in her youth, women
married their lives. And she was just an orphan
girl. It was starting to look rather imminent her
career as a secretary would come to an end. It
worried her. She needed the money. To console
herself, and perhaps, to escape her
circumstances, she often wandered to Morris
Bookstore in the east side of Waleford. She
spent countless hours between the shelves,
inhaling the smell of old books, trying to figure
out what to do with her life. She enjoyed
observing people and would often sit in the
back of the store and read. Over time she
started to know where everything was and
when people were looking for things she helped
them, mainly because Mr.Morris was an old man
but also because he allowed her to read books
for free. Mr.Morris made a note of her attitude
and after a while he suggested she'd come and
work for him. Mr.Morris couldn't pay much
either but she took the job because she felt
comfortable there. Mr.Morris was a gentle soul,
a true gentleman in every sense of the word
and he taught her a lot about life. He on the
other hand was happy to have company,
someone to help him with everything. Mr.Morris
was a lifelong bachelor with no family of his
own. They got along marvelously and when
Mr.Morris passed away, Carla inherited all his
assets, including Morris Bookstore. That was
fifteen years ago. Running a bookstore suited
Carla though business wasn't very good. People
just didn't read books like they used to. But
since Carla owned the space as well she didn't
need to sell much. She only needed to make
enough to pay her expenses. So she got by. She
often thought of Mr.Morris. Heaven knows