I went to Borders last night. I meant to go before they closed, as much to say good bye as anything else. But I hadn’t meant to go yesterday. But then unbearable traffic drove me in an alternate direction that took near it.
Nor had I meant to buy anything. Frankly 20% off most books didn’t seem like much. After all, Borders was sending us all 25-30% coupons twice a week not so long ago.
But periodicals were 40% and they were never covered by those old coupons, so I bought the most recent copy of Dissent, looked for a poetry or sci fi magazine, but couldn’t find one.
Then I left.
My idea, when going in, was to stay a little while. Grab a cup of coffee. Indulge in a little nostalgia.
But I couldn’t find any nostalgia.
Maybe if I’d gone to the one in Columbia, Maryland. When I was still recovering and unable to work much, I would go with my better half to shopping trips next a Borders. While she bought fabric and supplies, I would browse books.
Certainly if I’d gone to the one in Hollywood. That one meant something to me. It was a frequent excuse to get out of the house and look for something new and interesting. A place to browse for an hour or more, undisturbed. A place to get coffee before seeing a movie at the nearby Arc Light movies theater.
But this one didn’t mean much to me. It was just kind of sad. Especially because I may never go back. And soon, I won’t be able to go back.
Yikes. Too metaphorical.
But I get misty eyed over good bookstores. A mystery bookstore in Los Angeles where I took my mother, a fan of British mystery writers, to see a place devoted to her favorite genre, is now gone.
It’s not gone, but will I ever go back to Skylight Books in Los Feliz? Or Revelations in Fairfield, Iowa? Lemuria in Jackson, Mississippi? Probably not.
Conceivably, not even City Lights will be immune from my absence.
Ugh. Need more coffee.