To the Man in an Emptying Bookstore

Months have passed, the books still sit on my shelf, I can't bring myself to pick them up and read them. But I have a little message to send.

To Mr. Mahmoud ---:

Let me thank you.

You didn't know I was coming out of a very low and depressing episode in my life. You couldn't have known how drained I was during that month, or how much effort it took me every single day to get up and face a world that was somehow against me in most ways that matter.

I had just finished a final performance for a class- all the jokes landed well, I got interrupted with applause more than once, my instructor gave me one of the best reviews I've ever received. It took all of my energy to go and finish that final performance, and high on the praise I had just received, I left campus bursting with love for everyone and everything. Suddenly, this long road I had to walk through to take a bus instead of a taxi became so endearing. The shops I usually passed without a second glance became so interesting. This is a place full of life, full of good things, and I was so lucky to be passing through it.

I had to pick up a small gift for the friends I was visiting, but being a broke student with limited budgets I had to pick up something small with some meaning. I entered your shop after multiple failed ideas.

I knew I was buying something, literally anything, as soon as I stepped inside. I got a coloring book for 7 year old child (an inside joke), and when I asked if you had any better crayons- something more expensive, you laughed and said: "In this economy?"

That's when I noticed the pile of first editions on the counter, beautiful books, bound with yellowing paper. You had wrapped them in a thick plastic material to protect them. And when I asked if they were for sale you simply told me you collected these books from all over Lebanon, so no, they're not for sale, but I was welcome to look at them. 

You started showing me all the books you've collected over the years, which led us to talk about public libraries. You intend to fund a public library in your hometown, and you were currently looking for a place to rent. You didn't stop there, you actually gave me all the details and phone numbers and addresses I would need if I ever wanted to help revive the public library in my own hometown. 

And then of course, as all things are bound to circle back to that single problem we're all facing, we started to talk about the price of books in this economy. You lamented the process of trying to find suppliers that didn't require fresh dollars. I went on about how disappointing it was, to save up for almost a year, only to buy five books during the Beirut International book fair. 

And that's when you looked at me quizzically: "You read? Regularly?" And after I went into an explanation about my little blog and how much books mean to me, you got this look. I don't know how to explain it, but I knew you saw me for the first time, not just as a passing customer, but as a person, a fellow reader. You understood.

"Here, come in here." You led me to the back of your shop, where a small room, filled with shelves, sat in darkness. This is where you die Yumna. Who follows strangers they just met into dimly lit rooms? That was my first thought. But then you flipped a switch and I could see, on those shelves, rows and rows of books.

"Browse, choose whichever books you like, take your time, I'm by the counter." I protested, I'm not trying to take advantage of you, I went on. But you explained that you don't intend to sell them anymore, the prices would be too high and you can't bring myself to sell old books for such a high price, inflation be damned.

I'll admit, when you were appalled that I took only one book, insisted I get at least two more, I pinched myself to make sure I'm awake. Who does this kind of thing anymore? 

You didn't know how that little gesture, restored a broken thing inside of me, you had no idea how much it meant to me that you asked me what I was majoring in, and proceeded to try to give me books on journalism too. But to this day, I couldn't bring myself to touch the books, and now I feel something has shifted. I can finally pick them up and read them.

Thank you, for your kindness, for the books, for the conversation and your kind words. I hope your friend's wife is doing better, I hope you guys were able to find her cancer medicine that day.

Lastly, I hope you're okay, Mahmoud ---.