Poemsia

by Lang Leav

  “That’s a nice way to look at it.” I smiled and took another bite of my sandwich.

  “Can you believe how crazy the Dutch went over tulips?”

  “It’s mind-boggling,” I agreed. “But I liked how Rosa saved the day because she had learned to read. I think it was the first time I realized the power of words.”

  “Is that why you wanted to be a writer?”

  “I’ve never thought of it like that, but you could be on to something, Freud.”

  He grinned. “Did you know that at the height of tulip fever, one single bulb was swapped for loads of wheat and rye, a couple of pigs, an ox, stacks of butter, a silver cup, gallons of booze, and a barrel of cheese?”

  “An entire barrel of cheese? Wow.”

  “How long do you think it would take you to eat a barrel of cheese?” he asked.

  “Probably six months to a year. How about you?”

  “I really like cheese, so I could beat you to it—at least by a month or two.”

  “What’s your favorite cheese?”

  “Old Socks makes a great Stilton.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Yuck!”

  “But it’s so delicious,” he protested.

  “Do you know what’s delicious? Kraft Singles.”

  He laughed. “Sure, if you like plastic.”

  “I’d take plastic over mold any day.”

  The sound of a car horn blasted from the street below, and Zorro scrambled onto Sash’s lap.

  “Don’t worry, little guy,” he said, scratching under Zorro’s chin. “We’re safe up here.”

  I felt something warm bloom in my chest as I watched the two of them.

  “I liked your book, by the way,” Sash said suddenly.

  “You read it?”

  He nodded. “I think you write really well. I envy people like you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s almost as though you were born with a talent, and this talent is something that leads you, quite naturally, down a certain path. It’s the same with my sister, Marcia. She’s always wanted to help people. Her heart is so big, and now she’s started her first year as a nurse. It’s like she’s doing what she was always meant to.”

  “It’s the same with Jess. She’s always had a knack for art. She can make something amazing from scraps. Once she sewed an evening gown out of Ferrero Rocher wrappers.”

  “See what I mean? Like Jess, you’ve never questioned what you wanted to do with your life, have you?”

  “Well, I’ve always felt this inexpressible need to write, but it wasn’t until Mena Rhodes came along that I thought I could do something with it. I think maybe it’s because I needed a benchmark, someone to prove it could be done. Otherwise, it’s like a treasure map without the X. Now I know definitively—I want to be a poet just like Mena.”

  “Your work is different from hers, but in a good way. It feels aged, like someone wrote it a long time ago.”

  “Maybe that’s because I’ve spent my life in a secondhand bookstore.”

  “I’m sure all those authors you love are rooting for you.”

  “Do you know what? I’ve always thought of them as my mentors.”

  “I like that idea.”

  “So what do you want to do, Sash? Design grand buildings?”

  He groaned. “To be honest, I don’t know. I don’t have a straight line to anywhere. I’m still a treasure map without the X, but I had a funny thought today when I was working on the light fixture. It would be nice to own a bookstore someday. That’s a perfectly good dream to have, isn’t it?”

  “It most certainly is.”

  A gust of wind rustled the leaves on the rooftop, and Zorro darted from Sash’s lap to pounce on one like a ninja. Sash leaned back on his elbows, a serene expression on his face.

  “It’s peaceful up here. I like it.”

  “It may look that way, but there’s more than meets the eye.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, you see that hat shop across the street, the one with blue lettering in the window? It’s run by a lady named Margo—in her late thirties and never married. She’s desperately in love with Paul, who owns the bakery two doors down. He’s up at four every morning, baking. She goes in for the hot rolls, and they sit and have a coffee out front. You’ll see her walk by several times during the day. She stops and agonizes about whether to go in. Sometimes she walks right up the street and then back down again.”

  “Sounds like love is in the air.”

  I sighed. “If only it were that simple. See, Paul is in love with Sandra, the florist next door. But Sandra’s got a mystery guy—tall, dark, and handsome. Picks her up in a red Maserati. They’re on-again, off-again. Maybe he’s married; who knows? Sometimes she stands at the curb for ages after he drives off, with a sad look on her face. Once they had a massive argument right there on the sidewalk, and she smacked him with a bouquet. Rose petals flying all over the place.”

  “It’s a love triangle, then.”

  “Exactly. One that’s been developing over years.”

  “Your very own saga unfolding right here in Paddington.”

  “I’ve been keeping a record of it. I changed the names and businesses for privacy reasons. The hat shop is a mirror store and the bakery an arthouse cinema. Also, instead of Paul, the guy’s name is Raul.”

  “I like how you say that.”

  “Raul?” I rolled the word on my tongue.

  “Uh-huh, it’s like you’re growling.”

  I laughed. “You give it a try.”

  “Raul,” he said, in a deep, rolling voice.

  “You sound like a villain. We’ll have to get you an eye patch.”

  “And a tattoo.”

  “Yes, Raul has a tattoo of a spider.”

  “He does?”

  “On his face.”

  Sash laughed, and I noticed that his eyes crinkled in the corners. Pop always said that was the way you could tell someone was laughing for real.

  “Well, I have to give my leading man a certain edge. He’s got to be dangerous.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Raul’s a spy. The bakery is just a front. He bakes secret messages into the bread so it’s literally impossible to catch him because the messages are edible.”

  “That is genius.”

  I nodded. “It’s quite a sophisticated operation. That’s why I have been meticulously recording all of this. I’ve also been adding my own embellishments.”

  “Of course you have.”

  I grinned. “Between you and me, I’m rooting for Margo. She’s sweet. I like Sandra, too, but she’s tempestuous—Slavic, you see. Her accent is alluring, and I can understand why Raul—I mean Paul—is attracted to her. But he doesn’t realize Margo is the one for him. Sure, she dresses like a little old lady while Sandra prances around in slinky dresses and heels. She’s a bombshell, for sure. If Margo would only pop in some contacts and let her hair down, I just know Paul finally would realize it was her all along. Jess disagrees. She thinks Paul needs a woman who stirs his imagination as well as his loins.”

  Sash raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Her words, not mine.”

  “So she’s team Sandra, and you’re team Margo.”

  “That’s where it stands now. How about you, Sash? Since I’ve let you in on our melodrama, it’s only fair that you weigh in. Who would you choose if you were Paul? Plain-Jane Margo or sexy temptress Sandra?”

  He gave me a devilish grin. “Sandra.”

  After that day, Sash came over often to fix things. I was worried we might be taking advantage of his generosity, but Pop wasn’t the least bit concerned. “If the boy wants to work, let him work. He’s not doing it for free, is he?” Pop was referring to the arrangement he now had with Sash—they traded books
for maintenance services.

  “Most people want to be paid money, not books,” I said, eyebrows raised.

  “Out-of-print books,” Pop corrected me. “I’d gladly have done the same at his age. Anyway,” he lowered his voice, “he’s doing a good job. Don’t go and ruin it for us.”

  I heard the now-familiar banging noise in the next room and rolled my eyes.

  Sash worked Tuesdays and Thursdays at Das Haus, an architecture firm downtown. I found myself dreading those days, since I’d gotten so used to having him around. The place somehow felt livelier when he was here. I loved hearing the banter between him and Pop when they watched old war movies or played a game of chess. Sometimes they would spend hours discussing historical events from the fall of the Roman Empire to the invention of Gutenberg’s printing press.

  Aside from keeping Pop company, Sash was teaching me a lot about building. For example, now he was on a stepladder, hanging on my bedroom wall the collage he’d made. Most people just bang a nail in, but not Sash. He had all sorts of contraptions for drilling and measuring, and I’d ask, “What’s this for? What about that?” so he’d patiently explain. I particularly liked his story about the bubble leveler that was invented by a Frenchman who was also responsible for popularizing the breast stroke. I loved the randomness of it all. Now Sash was frowning with concentration as he held the collage up to the wall.

  “How’s work?” I asked.

  “It’s going OK, I guess. They offered me a full-time job at Das Haus.”

  “Wow, congrats! Are you going to take it?” I was happy for him, even if it meant he’d have less time to hang out here.

  “I don’t know, Wolf. It’s like what we talked about. I’m not sure my heart is in architecture. It’s gone so digital, and I’ve always loved working with my hands. I mean”—he motioned to the task he was doing—“if there’s such a thing as job satisfaction, this would kind of be it.”

  “Well, we’d hire you in a heartbeat, kiddo, but you know we can’t afford you.”

  He looked down and grinned. “I know, Wolf.” He went back to the wall. “I think everyone is toughing it out nowadays. I was walking down Oxford Street this morning and noticed so many stores with ‘For Lease’ signs tacked to their windows.”

  “It’s sad, isn’t it? Just a few years ago it was buzzing, but now it’s so quiet. A whole lot of businesses have gone under—it’s a miracle Wolf Books has held on so long. We had a few close calls, but Jess and I always managed to keep our doors open somehow. We’ve done bake sales, gotten council grants. One time when things looked particularly grim, we even set up a GoFundMe page, and a generous donor came along and saved the day. Despite all that, we’re still hanging on by the skin of our teeth.”

  Sash sighed. “I think lots of people are in the same boat. That’s why I should take the job. My parents have been dropping hints about me going into full-time employment. I’ll bet they’re keen to have me out of the house. But what if I accept the offer and a year goes by, then two? All of a sudden, I’m this architect, and that’s my life? On the other hand, what if I turn it down and the opportunity never comes up again? It’s such a great firm, and I know there are graduates lining up for my position.”

  “I know how you feel. If Wolf Books goes under, I’m in real trouble. This is my safety raft, but it’s leaky. The water’s rushing in, and I don’t know how to stop it. I’d get a side job but all my time goes to helping Pop with the store. It’s touch and go—you get a box of books that don’t sell, and you’re dipping into your emergency fund to get through the next month. It worries me a lot, because other than this old place—I don’t have a backup plan. I don’t know what I would do.”

  “You have your poetry,” Sash pointed out.

  “Ever since Mena’s massive success, everyone is jumping on the bandwagon and flocking to Instagram to share their poems. I’m just one of many hopeful poets.”

  “I think you’re being modest, Wolf. There is something really special about your work, so it’s no surprise you’re building a following. I showed your poems to my sister, Marcia, and she loves them! So do Teddy and Tom. In fact, everyone seems to love—”

  His sentence cut off, and I knew exactly why.

  “Everyone except for Penelope—right?” I teased.

  He sighed. “Penelope’s kind of specific about what she likes.”

  “Are you and Penelope . . .” I trailed off.

  He looked a bit embarrassed. “Um, we were actually together for a while—on and off. But we’re just friends now.”

  “Oh, I see.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. It wasn’t a huge surprise, but I found myself wishing their relationship had been purely platonic. At that very moment, I realized I was falling for him. Damn it, why did Jess have to be right about everything?

  “Can you hand me the drill?” Sash asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Sure!” I found it in our toolbox and passed it up.

  He squinted at the pencil mark, then switched on the drill. At that moment, Zorro raced in, bounded off my bed, and crashed into the stepladder. Sash’s grip on the drill slipped, and it grazed his finger. He let out a bloodcurdling wail as the drill fell to the floor with a thud.

  My hand covered my mouth. “Oh my God! Sash, are you OK?”

  He was staring at the trickle of blood running down his finger.

  “Oh,” he said weakly, “I think I’m going to pass out.”

  Somehow, I got him off the ladder. He was unsteady on his feet, so I had him lie down on the floor. I took off my jacket, rolled it up, and stuck it under his head. Then I took a closer look at his injured finger. It didn’t look too bad—worse than a paper cut, but not too much more.

  “OK, take a deep breath, soldier.”

  He did as I said, and I went to fetch our first aid kit from the bathroom.

  “You OK?” I asked, as I dabbed his wound with a soaked cotton ball.

  He grinned. “Still alive, Wolf.”

  I wrapped a Garfield Band-Aid around his finger. “Thought we lost you there for a minute.”

  Then I lay down next to him, and we stared at the ceiling.

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” he said eventually. “I’m not great with blood.”

  “Who is?”

  “All this work to prove my masculinity—ruined in a single moment.”

  “It’s OK. That high-pitched wail was in no way a threat to your manliness. While we’re on the subject, do you need me to loosen your corset?”

  “Ha ha, very funny.”

  “Seriously, masculinity is overrated. Even Superman has a weakness.”

  “And what’s yours?” Sash asked.

  “Cockroaches. I go hysterical when I see one.”

  “I think most people react to them that way.”

  “Not Jess. She’ll wack one with a shoe while I’m standing there, screaming and hopping from one foot to the other.”

  “I don’t like the idea of killing anything, so I would probably just learn to accept it. Once a praying mantis lived in the corner of my shower for weeks. I named him Henry.”

  I laughed.

  After a short pause, Sash said, “Thanks for helping me.”

  “Couldn’t let you bleed to death,” I teased.

  He held up his bandaged finger and grinned. “You did a nice job. My sister would be proud. Nurses appreciate stuff like this.”

  “It is a masterpiece,” I agreed. “Look how neat and stuck down it is. Not a single air bubble.”

  “It’s firm but not so tight that it’s cutting off my circulation.”

  I took his hand so I could again admire my handiwork. As I did, he squeezed mine gently, and our eyes met. My heart started pounding in my chest, but Zorro decided this was the moment to walk up and plant himself squarely on Sash’s chest.

  I withdrew m
y hand and glared at my cat. “Look at all the trouble you’ve caused,” I reprimanded. “You could have killed us.”

  His eyes grew wide, and he looked from me to Sash. Then he threw his head back and let out a loud, mournful meow.

  Sash grinned, scratching behind his ears. “Apology accepted, little guy.”

  Six

  “Apparently, Sash and Penelope used to go out,” I told Jess.

  “Ugh,” she replied. “Now it makes sense why she was so rude to you. Anyway, you have to watch her. She’s up to no good for sure.”

  We were now at the mall to pick up a new charger for my phone. My old one, held together with bits of electric tape, had finally given up last night. My phone battery had been dead all day, and I felt restless thinking of all the Instagram messages I’d left unanswered.

  “Do you think Sash still likes her?” I asked.

  “How long were they dating?”

  I shrugged. “No idea. He said it was on and off.”

  “Uh-oh, you know what that means. When an on-off relationship isn’t on, it’s never really quite off either.”

  I groaned. “Great. Why can’t I just like someone who doesn’t come with baggage? Especially when the baggage is as gorgeous as Penelope.”

  Jess went silent, and when I turned to face her, she was staring at me openmouthed. “Young lady, did you just admit to me that you like Sash?”

  “Yeah.”

  She beamed at me. “Well, this is an exciting development!”

  “I kind of had a weird dream about him last night. We had to paint a room bright yellow, but the paint rollers were corncobs.”

  “Not surprising. You guys have been doing all this DIY stuff. It’s practically foreplay.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not really getting any vibes from him.”

  “Vare, it is painfully obvious to anyone with eyes that you’re hot for each other but neither one of you wants to make the first move.”

  I thought back to when Sash squeezed my hand. Was it my imagination, or had we shared a moment? I wish I had the same confidence as Jess, but I couldn’t be sure how he felt.

  We got to JB Hi-Fi and were making our way to the wall of chargers when Jess grabbed my shoulder so hard I yelped.