It had been a long journey, one he had been planning since he was 17. Now, three years later, he sees his exit comping up. "Will she be there?" he wonders. Down 4 blocks... Turn left... There it is. He still remembered. The information was accurate.
It was almost exactly as he had expected it. Low shelves permiated with the musty smell of old leather, the dank odor of acid rotted paper... but there was no one there.
Suddenly there was a crash fromt he back as a small range of books tumbled down. He hurried over. AH! There she was!
How she's changed... he thought. He made a quick inventory or these changes. Lost some weight... Looks like she might have gotten breast implants... the west does that to people. He helped her up.
"Thanks," she flashed a quick smile completely devoid of recognition. Was he wrong? She couldn't have forgotten him.
"Ummm... Hi... I'm looking for a book..." he mumbled. "Well you've come to the right place... this is a bookstore!" Sarcastic bitch thought he, though he dare not say it, insead he looked with a pained expression on his face.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" His senses sharpened at her remark. Perhaps it IS her after all... "This is the first time I've ever been in this town... perhaps in another life?" "You seem familiar..." "Well actually I was s'posed to meet someone here... At first I thought It might have been you." "What's her name?" "I don't know... she said she was changing it when she got out here... I told her to stop in here and buy me a book, try to get a job..." He noticed she was staring at him strangely. "What?" he asked.
"She'll be back later... she's out getting food... as long as you're waiting you can help me pick up these books." She bent down and began the slow process of rebuilding the mountains. After a few moments he also stooped to help.
The bell over the door jangled. "They didn't have the mild green curry so I had to get the other.. kind..." She slowly stopped talking as they stood up from behind the bookshelves.
She's still the same.
"When did you get in?" she asked, still holding the take-out boxes. The other girl answered for him "A few minutes ago, he though I was you." they exchanged a bemused smile.
It was a common mistake. The two girls looked virtually the same with the exception of the breasts. It looked as though they were the same person, only separated by a few years of age, time for which pounds to be added and a bosom to mature.
Over the shared food he kept thinking they're like sisters and indeed they very much were.
She arrived late one afternoon in the last week of July. Aņana, that was the other girl's name, had been away in Spain for much of the year, the nature of her business did not allow her to visit often. Lacrima, whom he had followed half way across the country, arrived when Aņana's parents missed their daughter terribly. Her physical resemblance was reinforced by their similar mannerisms. Her tale of her roadtrip for no other reason than "because I felt like doing it" reminded them, Aņana's parents, of their own youth.
When her tale came around to her reason for coming to this town (Because he had told her to buy him a book at the bookshop "down four blocks, turn left, it's right there") they laughed merrily along with her. When she remarked about her dwindling supply of funds they jumped on the chance to keep her in town. The rejoiner that she had also been told to ask for a job only strengthened the uniqueness of the meeting.
So Lacrima found herself employed, with room and board, less than 15 minutes of walking into the town.
Aņana returned in September to find her place in the family fairly usurped. Aņana's apparent aptitude had stolen her from her parents at a very young age. She quickly became a product of her industry much to the chagrin of her parents. They kept their unhappiness from Aņana. Lacrima was like a younger version of Aņana, before she went away. Lacrima became the daughter. Aņana was accepting of this change and of Lacrima primarily because the two got along so well.