Once I have the car loaded, I make my way over to the small shopping center in town. The rain has cooled the air enough that I feel comfortable leaving the groceries in the car while I browse. The bookshop is close by and I scoot inside just before the rain picks up and sends a brief deluge down from above.
It’s quiet inside, the only sounds being some New Age music playing and the splash of water from some decorative fountains they have on display. There’s a person behind the counter reading a book. They look up for a moment, say hello and smile, then leave me to my own devices. It’s not a tremendously large store, but they seem to have packed plenty into it. I pass by rows and rows of books ranging from Astrology to Philosophy, only glancing here and there at the covers and spines. There’s nothing on the racks to pique my interests at all.
The deeper I get into the store the more I smell some incense that’s burning. It’s not a bad smell, and I’m not one for an overabundance of perfumes or air fresheners. This particular scent has a lot of lavender in it, and lavender is something very natural and earthy. I follow the scent and find myself at a shelf of incense burners. They have a lot of them in all different types of materials. There are some made out of pottery, with heavy glazes; long troughs to catch the ashes with a woman’s head carved into the end to hold the incense sticks. The glazes are so compelling that I want to touch them, and I do. I not only touch the smooth surfaces, I find myself examining them for flaws, for chips. Finding none, I choose three. Two for Alex, one for myself. I also take several bags of the fragrant incense sticks of the same type that’s burning.
Not far from this display is a wall decorated with dream catchers. They’re lovely. Not the usual kind that look garish and too colorful, these are more natural looking, made of bent wood and decorated sparingly with stones and thick, hemp threads. I see one that I like immediately. It’s made of a deep brown wood and adorned with obsidian and flecks of some red stone. It’s not very big at all, and I take it down from its perch.
The man behind the counter has come out to help me. He relieves me of the things in my hand, taking them back to the counter where he peels the price tags away and begins to wrap each item in tissue.
I still haven’t found what I came there for. I know that I had nothing specific in mind, and that what I’ve already chosen is sufficient. But I don’t feel that I’m done.
I browse a little more, looking over the myriad types of Tarot Cards they have, the collections of tapes and DVD’s, and the stacks of ritual items, likes bowls and chalices, until I find myself at the stones and crystals. This is what I think I had in mind. Something small that Alex can keep in his pocket, that he can put his hands on and touch. Something to connect him to good thoughts, instead of the dark thoughts he appears to be subjected to on a regular basis. Heck, even if it’s just something that might remind him to take his medications.
I go hot with embarrassment at the thought of them. I should have been watching more closely. I don’t know a lot about taking anti-depressants, but obviously there’s some balance to doing it, and Alex needs them very much. I think to myself that I’ll pick up a book or two about it at the library when I go there. It wouldn’t hurt to be more informed about it, considering what happened today.
I really thought the man was going to have a breakdown right in the kitchen. I don’t know what made me think of the prescriptions other than seeing that the box didn’t seem to need refilling.
Well, I’m going to be on top of that now. The change in mood Alex displayed was frightening, and if I hadn’t seen him sound asleep with my own eyes, I never would have left the house. I’ve already made a note to myself to remind him to call his doctors, and that’s one memo I’m not about to forget.
My train of thought is interrupted by some hanging crystals. They’re far too chunky for what I have in mind, but they’re very beautiful, particularly the ones that give off darts of light themselves. They’re dangling over some jewelry, and I look it over. Earrings, bracelets, necklaces, all made out of semiprecious stones. Some are elaborate, some are very simple. There are also boxes of loose stones scattered here and there and I thrust my fingers into them, enjoying the smooth coolness of the polished bits of rock. It’s the obsidian that draws my attention again. It’s dark and not dark, all at the same time. Smooth, cool, attractive. The silvery black color is attention getting. I pick up a handful and let them spill through my fingers, sifting through the container.
“Are you particular to obsidian?” The man from behind the counter has appeared at my side in that same silent way Alex is in the habit of showing up in the kitchen.
“It’s very beautiful,” I say.
“I can mount a piece for you on a chain or a ring. We already have some very good pieces mounted already.” He leads me up to the front counter where I see that some of the more expensive items are in cases. These are out of my league, nothing like what I had in mind, but are very lovely to look at. I tell him that out right.
“I’m sure some of these are within your budget,” he says, removing a velvet tray.
I’m sure they’re not, but look anyway. There’s an assortment of the usual jewelry, most of it too feminine. But there is something that looks interesting and simple, just a chain with a silvered mount that hugs the stone it’s holding. The silver is as smooth as the stone, but the stone is pink; not what I’m looking for. And I don’t like the chain at all.
The man follows my gaze and picks up the piece. With a small tool he pries open the claw, slips the pink stone from it, and replaces it with a piece of obsidian. Then he holds the chain up to my chest.
“Very nice,” he says.
“It’s not for me, though, it’s a gift. For a man. I think it’s a little too, hmm, fussy?”
“What about on a key chain?” And he takes the mounted jewel off the necklace and slides it onto a thick key ring. It’s perfect. It’s what I was looking for, and he quotes me a price that I can live with.
Before I know it he’s rung up my purchases and I’m walking out the door with my bag full of goodies. I’ve splurged and I don’t care. The rain has slacked off again. I can see hints of sun behind the clouds. I think I still have time to run to Payson Library, and I put the Jeep into reverse feeling better about the day already.
~~**~~**~~***~~**~~**~~
Payson is hushed and cool inside. The quietness almost envelopes me when I enter the main atrium. And there is my ‘friend’, Nyle, working at the desk, her hair still pulled back in clips, a strand escaping as she rakes her fingers through it. She’s helping a student, and I hang back and wait. In the middle of what she’s doing, though, I catch her eye and she smiles waving me over.
“You’re back,” she says, as if she’s been waiting for me.
“I couldn’t resist,” I tell her. “A rainy day? Here? It screamed ‘reading material’ to me.”
“It’s screaming ‘catch up on assignments’ to everyone else. Is there anything specific you were looking for?” she asks, and she waves off the student she was taking to.
“Sort of. I’d like to read something about depression and medications and their affects.”
“You don’t look depressed,” she says, with a grin.
“Not me, the man I work for. He had a set back, and I’d like to be prepared to recognize them.”
“Heavy reading. You looked more like the historical romance type.”
“You have historical romances here?”
“No, which made me wonder what you were doing here in the first place,” she tells me with a laugh, and I’m not sure whether to laugh or be insulted, but Nyle comes out from behind the desk, takes my arm in hers, and leads me into the stacks.
“Well, I…”
“Oh, I don’t mean anything by that, it’s just that you didn’t look like a student when you came in here the other day, and you didn’t look like faculty. You looked civilian, and civilians never want to read anything ‘heavy’. But then again, you were HERE, so that said something, too.”
We stop at some shelves and Nyle begins pulling books down. Just three, and they’re slim volumes. “The Mood Cure: The 4-Step Program to Rebalance Your Emotional Chemistry and Rediscover Your Natural Sense of Well-Being” by Julia Ross; “Self-Coaching: How to Heal Anxiety and Depression” by Joseph J. Luciani; “Undoing Depression” by Richard O’Connor.
“These are basic books. Give them a read and if you want, I’ll get you into some serious literature on depression.” She takes me right back to the desk and doesn’t even ask for my card or ID, she just types some information into her computer and stamps a form inside the back covers of the books. “There you go.”
And I’m disappointed. It was all so quick and efficient and I was hoping for a little time to browse and wander. I think I was hoping that Nyle would have a moment to spend with me, too, and I can see that it’s busy here, and that the expectation I had is out of the question.
“Thank you,” I say.
“If you want to look around for a while, I have a break in about half an hour, and I’d love some company.”
“I would, too,” I say, and before I can stop myself, my mouth is forming more words. “I have to get back to work, though. Can I take a rain check?”
“Absolutely,” she says. “I’m always here in the mornings, so if you get the urge, come on in around eleven-thirty and we’ll have coffee.”
“I’d like that,” I tell her, because I would. I would have liked to have said ‘yes’ today. I wanted to say ‘yes’, but more than that, I know that I was really just looking for the invitation. So it’s easy for me to smile and wave and say good-bye. I slip my books into my bag and walk out the door feeling as if I’ve accomplished something. I’m not really shy, but I’m not naturally social, either. And my nomadic life, as well as some of my circumstances, has led me to be somewhat untrusting. So to seek out someone’s company is unusual for me, and doing it, actually coming to Payson not just for the books but for the company of Nyle, too, makes me feel more like the ‘new’ me.
It’s time to go back to the house. The groceries are bordering on wilting. I’ve done everything that I set out to do today. And I’m worried, if I want to be honest with myself. I’m worried that Alex may be awake and working himself into some kind of mood because he’s alone.
I have to admit, I’m getting used to his mood swings. They’ve also gotten less and less severe, AND frequent, which makes them easier to handle. Even easier to watch. Some of them, heck, most of them I can ignore. Not today, but today was exceptional.
I can’t worry about it. The problem was his medication, and I’ll be on top of it from now on. As long as he’s home and I can be in charge of him. And I can’t control what happens to him if he’s not at home. In fact, I don’t want to.
I think I’m beginning to understand the concept of ‘one day at a time’.
~~**~~**~~***~~**~~**~~
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
