Left Behind

Yesterday, on another shopping spree, I ended up wandering around an antique shop. I felt the surprised looks of the older ones as soon as the door closed behind me when I entered. My youth, my race, whatever it was that attracted the looks, was not clear to me- and little concern did I have about it.

It was pretty daunting to know that the cabinet on my right belonged to someone that could breath no longer. There was a lot of furniture there but somehow I could never mistake my place. There was no way I could possibly think I was in a "normal" store. I could sense the history with every step I took.

Like a little kid that found a treasure chest filled with candy, I stumbled upon five shelves filled with books. I was no longer thinking that someone had owned those books previously. All I could wonder was whether I'd had enough money to get the books I would want. I browsed the rows and recognized only but a few titles. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad one. Perhaps I just need to read more, I thought.

One of the books I picked up was titled "Teen Ink." I had read the magazine by the same name before and curiously flipped the pages of the book to find a relationship between the two. At first it looked like a compilation of articles and after actually reading the cover (I leave the cover for last because you know, "you can't judge a book by its cover") my assumptions were confirmed.

I flipped through the first page which I had anxiously skipped early and found some writing in it. The writing was a little messy- what you'd call "doctor's writing"- and short:

Kristen,

I am so proud of what you have accomplished.

I love you,

Mom.

For a moment, I looked around as if I was making sure no one was there to see what I was seeing. I wasn't trying to be selfish, I just didn't think this message was meant for anyone else but Kristen. I even felt a little guilty for reading it.

I put it back in the shelf and started to browse for another book. But why would Kristen give the book away, I though. Or was it Mom? I could not let it go. The message seemed important to me and so did the book- then what happened? How did it end up left behind in this shop?

The chances of me ever finding the answers to the questions raised between those shelves are little, but I still bought the book. I knew I could give it a place in my own shelf, after reading it, of course. I thought I could keep it with me and somewhere along the line, maybe my children will find it and ask me who Kristen was. Now I even wish I did.