Old Wisdom by Tulah Dixie

I wish I lived in Alaska. Or Norway. Or anywhere but here. Why do I have to exist in this world apart from him? Every time I go to work at the bookstore, there he is, standing behind the counter, smiling at customers, happy in his existence, while I walk to the back of the store to unpack boxes.

It all started four months ago, when I first got the job. I walked to the Science Fiction section, pushing a cart of Star Trek books. I didn't realize they still wrote Star Trek books. As I began putting them on the shelf, he walked by, pausing to smile. I knew at that moment that my life would never be the same.

The first two weeks of our relationship were heaven. The way he looked at me, the feeling of his hand on my hair, everything was perfect. He kissed like an angel, and acted like the perfect gentleman when went out. But then I felt him drawing away, even though I didn't want to admit it. I clung, and clung, but he broke away despite it.

And now he is dating the girl who works at the cafe, gazing sweetly at her from behind he cash register. And I am lonely, watching in my mandatory apron, my heart breaking a little more every day.

During my lunch break one day I stopped at the deli a few stores down for a cookie and a soda. It was pretty packed, so I went outside and sat on a bench. After a few minutes an old man sat down at the other end of the bench, holding a newspaper in one hand, and a leash in the other. His dog was obviously a mutt; maybe on of his ancestors was a golden retriever, who knows.

I nibbled my cookie slowly, watching the shoppers pass by, when he walked by, hand in hand with Ms. Cafe. I didn't realize that I had paused with the cookie in my mouth until the old man spoke.

“I take it you have some feelings for that young man there.” I glanced at him, surprised. I didn't know what to say, was I that obvious? Finally I just nodded.

“I thought I would mourn my first love forever. But then I met my Mable, and we spent 53 wonderful years together. Just wait, you'll meet your real Prince Charming one of these days.”

“Thank you,” I said, at a loss for words. I expected the old man to keep talking, maybe tell me more about Mable, but I glanced at him and his eyes were closed. I studied his wrinkled face, imagining that each line was a trial, or a heartbreak, or maybe even a great joy. Suddenly my love trouble seemed so small, silly. I had the rest of my life, if it took that long, to find the man I would really love. And was that really the most important thing? I vowed then and there to just be happy, now matter where my life took me.

I waited half an hour to talk to the old man again, but he was still snoring softly, and I had to get back to work. So I settled for giving his dog a good scratch behind the ears, and also the last bit of my cookie, then stood up and walked back to work.

As I put stickers on the bargain books later that day, my old love walked by behind me. We hadn't spoken since he'd told me it just wasn't working. Remembering my old friend, I looked right at him and smiled. He looked confused, but I kept smiling and even said hi.

“Uh, hi.” He walked away, looking as wonderful as ever, but for the first time in three months, I didn't look back.

Autumn by Iris Rosewater

Linus Hopper was a creature of habit. It had been years since he had tried anything new… a new brand of toothpaste, a new outfit, a new food. When he turned 70, he decided to retire from change. He never much liked it, anyway. Now that Else had passed on, there was no one to bother him about it. So, he stayed safely and contentedly in his small life day in and day out, with every decision having been made years and years before. It was a gentle rhythm you could fall asleep to. Every morning, he woke without an alarm at exactly 7:05 a.m. He had one cup of Postum with his Newspaper. He put on his cap and grey wool sweater and headed out, walking just around the corner to the bakery, where he purchased one raspberry turnover. He held the pastry up to his nose, careful not to get any sweet on the grey bristles of his moustache, and smelled the warm fruit inside before taking a bite. Licking his fingers, he walked down the street to his place of business: an antique bookstore which he bought after retiring as a kind of hobby. It wasn’t terribly busy. Usually, he sat all day in his wingchair just next to the front counter and read. It smelled of old wood and tobacco smoke. It was quiet. It was predictable. It was perfect.

The autumn was an irritating season for Linus. It was a changing season. The weather was fickle. He did like the trees, though, despite himself – and he watched from his window as a surprisingly strong wind stripped the boughs naked, filling the air with fiery orange and red leaves. The skeletons seemed undignified to him. And cold. As the light faded in the late afternoon, he watched the last of the November harvest swirl in the street. Soon he would walk home in the dark to the serenade of their thin bones crunching beneath his penny loafers. Mortality played out. Linus drew a long breath and turned the page in his book.

The following morning, Linus woke up at 7:05. He retrieved his newspaper from the front steps. He drank his postum. He put on his cap and sweater. But, as he stepped out into borders of his small world, he was met by an anomaly. A small, brown, wiry-haired dog blocked his way and looked up at him through what looked like overgrown eyebrows. Linus stood for a moment and stared back. And then, wordlessly, sidestepped the animal and continued his way to the bakery. The leaves were a thick blanket over the sidewalk and had dried in the crisp night air. It was a noisy trudge around the corner. A little too noisy. He turned around. The dog stopped too, and wagged its little brown tail expectantly behind him. Irritated now, Linus marched on for his turnover. The dog watched through the window and sniffed at the air as Linus took a delighted whiff. Linus watched back. This was going to be a problem.

All the way down the street to the bookshop the dog followed Linus, never daring to walk at his side, but dutifully keeping the same pace. That first day was really unnerving. The mutt parked itself right outside his shop and stayed there the whole day. Linus pretended not to pay it any attention, for fear of encouraging the thing, but it stayed in his peripheral vision all day long – sometimes sleeping, sometimes licking its untidy fur, but usually staring through the window right at him. The best thing, he decided, was to pay it no mind and it would grow bored of trying and go away. But, it didn’t. It followed him home that night and greeted him with a kind of doggy smile the next morning as he opened the front door for his newspaper. Linus sighed as he heard the steady crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch of the four paws behind him on the way to work. He felt a pang of guilt, which he tried to swallow, as he took his first delicious bite of raspberry turnover and caught the longing gaze of the dog waiting for him outside. He used a napkin instead of licking his fingers as he walked to work.

Linus’ only customer remarked at what a loyal pet he must have as he stepped into the shop. Not much for conversation, Linus gave a polite chuckle and nod before returning to his book. The dog must have seen and took it the wrong way, he decided as they walked together through the early night back to his apartment. Before turning in, he put bowl of water on the front stoop.

By the third day, both he and the dog had become used to this new routine. It had even started walking next to Linus instead of behind him… and, against his better judgment, he gave the little thing the last bite of his pastry as he left the bakery. He pondered over his predicament all that day, without the pretense of any book in his lap. The two of them stared each other down, having an unspoken conversation with their faces. ‘I’m boring,’ Linus’ face warned. ‘I don’t care,’ countered the mutt. ‘I’m old and irritable!’ he frowned. ‘I’ll survive,’ it reasoned back. ‘I eat all the same food and wear all the same clothes and I never go anyplace new at all…’ he chewed on his lip. ‘I know,’ smiled the dog, letting its tongue loll out playfully. So, that afternoon, they made their decision.

Linus’ fingers were cold as he twisted the old key in its lock to open his apartment. He patted Mitzy, who looked back up at him with her warm black eyes before trotting for the first time into their nice warm home.