The morning was chilly and dark, when Paul turned the key into the door of his little stationary shop on Main Street. The familiar squeak made him smile, while mentally, he was already brewing a hot cup of coffee in the kitchenette he had created for himself in the back.
As he closed the door behind him he inhaled deeply the smell of paper and plastic. This is what heaven must smell like, he would sometimes joke to himself.
He had set up the shop maybe thirty years before, he could not really remember for sure, though he did remember the reason why his mum pushed him to do it.
He could not hold down a job, he was heading straight for the streets, but she knew, she was so smart his mum, she knew he loved, for some weird, unexplainable reason, pens, and paper, and notebooks, and things to draw on or write on, and crayons, and all sorts of paper clips, and things to make holes or whatever.
Anything and everything linked to stationary Paul was passionate about, his mum knew this, and to save him, to give him purpose, she pushed him to set up his little shop.
At first he was so shy, he could barely speak to people, but then, when they came in and just asked his advice about this fountain pen or the quality of that paper, he would blossom and transform into this totally other person, confident, chatty and charismatic. All the things he never thought he could be.
After that, it all just fell into place. Paul learnt about suppliers, invoices and it turned out that he was really good at keeping track of all expenses and takings, so the little shop just ticked along nicely, ensuring he had a comfortable living, but most of all that he had a purpose, and each day he was doing something he truly loved.
Paul loved the internet, and often he would spend hours and hours looking for strange stationary related objects or antiques. He loved that fact that from his own little desk, in the small shop, in a tiny town on this small island of Ireland, he could access objects from everywhere in the world. Paul was happy.
The day flowed undisturbed until it no longer did.
Everything turned when, the bell of the door signaled the entrance of a tall, well dressed woman Paul was sure he had never seen before.
‘Heya, are you ok?’, he had said these words millions of times before, but somehow, in that moment he had a strange feeling they were different.
The woman looked up at him as if surprised there was another human being in the shop.
‘Hello, yes, all good thank you.’, her voice seemed not to match her well put together exterior. It was a bit rough and flat.
Paul sat down behind his desk, but kept looking at her in the mirrored ceiling. She did not seem interested in anything in particular. She moved from envelopes to sketch books, to fountain pens without really seeming to need any of them.
As usual, after a few minutes, Paul got distracted by something on his laptop and soon was immersed in an online search for an antique ink well.
‘Excuse me!’, she was so close now that Paul was startled as he looked up.
‘Yes, of course. Did you find what you were looking for?’, his voice was all professional not betraying one bit the feeling he had, that something was wrong.
‘Well, you see, actually, and I am really embarrassed to say, I am not quite sure what I need.’
Paul gave her a kind, servile smile that seemed to relax her.
‘I am really ashamed to say, but my son is starting school next week and I wanted to surprise him and my husband and buy what he needs, I mean make it like a nice little school package with everything pens, notebooks, whatever, but I just don’t know where to start.’
Paul was quite taken aback by the situation, he could not imagine an easier task than to pick out some school supplies for a child just starting out. He did not want to hurt her feelings though and said nothing of the sort.
‘No worries at all, I can help you with it. First tell me, what is your son’s name and which hand does he prefer for drawing?’
Five minutes in, in their selection process she blurted out.
‘Yes, now I remember. Pimpled Paul! You are Pimpled Paul!’, she was all radiant in the light of recognition.
‘I am Amy. Amy McNulty. You must remember me!’
That is when a heavy, earth shattering penny dropped and Paul recognized her too. Yes, Amy. Amy McNulty … the girl that almost drove him to kill himself.
‘Oh Paul! It is so good to see you! We just moved back into town, with the little one starting school, and the city getting so busy, we though it was best for our family. Oh what a lovely shop you have! You did well for yourself! Who would have thought!’, and she laughed taking his arm and squeezing it tight.
Paul felt like he was in a trance. He smiled, he helped her select her things, welcomed her back into town while waving her good bye. Then he ran to the little toilet in the back and threw up.
‘WTF?!?’
The memory of his painful and hurtful teenage years came flooding in leaving him out of breath, certain he will drown in all that misery and … shame.
Without his knowing tears ran down his cheeks and sounds like those of a hurt animal came out of his chest. He froze when the bell above the door rang. He had not locked the door behind her.
The shop! The shop was his most important endeavor. On auto pilot he washed his face and thoroughly dried it with a clean towel.
‘Hello … ‘, his customer was standing by the desk waiting for him.
‘Paul, hello! I just need these for today please. So happy you have them back in stock, I do not know what I would do without you!’
Paul looked at the plump woman in front of him and was grateful for her words.
‘Really?’, his voice was lacking energy.
‘Oh Paul! Of course! You know I first write my stories by hand on these notebooks and then Morgan writes them on the computer. I need to feel the pen and paper, and these have just the right kind of feel.’
Paul nodded and the woman’s passion helped him come back to himself.
‘Well then, I have a surprise for you!’, he looked at the bright eyes and the smile accompanying them with joy.
‘Uh! My favorite words in the English language! In all languages for that matter!’, the woman laughed at her own joke and watched Paul intensely.
Paul went in the back and then returned with a wooden box which he ceremoniously put on the desk, opened it slowly and took out a plain, old looking notebook with crimson covers and rough paper.
‘This is for you, to thank you for immortalizing my shop in your book …’
The woman giggled.
‘It is an unused notebook coming from Agatha Christie’s house, this is the kind of notebook she used to write her stories on. I thought you might like to have it.’
The woman’s face was all star struck looking at the unused, musty smelling, rough notebook in front of her.
‘Full disclosure’, Paul continued, ‘she had loads, I think she was a bit like us, liked a good stash, so they are not that rare or expensive, they are empty, but I knew it would mean something to you.’
The woman nodded still in awe while taking hold of the notebook.
‘Oh Paul, you are so kind! Thank you! I do not know what to say!’
‘That is a first!’, he joked as he was wrapping her other shopping.
‘Cheeky!’
As she left she waved at him inviting him to come over and have tea with them, her daughter Morgan had just read a book about people living in a silo or something, and was dying to tell him about it.
Alone again in his shop, this time Paul felt more equipped to look back and face his past. He had done some really bad things to himself and to others, but mainly to himself to please people like Amy.
He was baffled that she did not seem at all bothered by any of it, that is something truly difficult to make sense of. Maybe she also chose to forget and distance herself of all that mindless darkness.
He felt queasy and sick when bits of memories started to populate his mind. But he was not that person anymore.
Now, he could stand up for himself, now he had a purpose and a good life that he had built, with some help from his mum of course, but it was his, he was doing it day in and day out.
He owed no debt of shame.
He had to accept it, it was part of him, but now that chapter was finished and he had a solid life, build on solid ground and he could count on himself to keep it.
‘Amy f***ing McNulty! She did not age well!’, he joked to himself while going back to his internet search.
‘People living in a silo, what craziness was that?’, he looked forward to Morgan telling him all about it.