At the intersection of Parker and Maine sits a musty old bookstore with fading blue shutters and a paint-chipped sign Carved out letters reading 'Becky's Books' where a small cardboard cutout says closed I stood at the door waiting for some opportunity to enter a place I'd never been When - Down the street walked a man Windblown and hurried; his coat fluttered with every brisk step Tapping on cobblestone tiles with a lively clacking Mumbling a muse on important meetings Soon silenced by the look I shot him At a bookstore on the corner of Parker and Maine "What do you desire?" he inquired Tipping his top hat in polite recognition The gentleman's soft brown eyes comforted my youthful impatience teemed with brimming curiosity at a quaint little shop in the town "What time are they open?" said I to the man with a perplexing glance to his hand The joints were ivory; his palm made of steel; his minimus marked with a metallic blue seal that showed quite simply a ring grasping roses "My dear," he replied with a smile like diamonds shining with warmth from the sun "That shop has been shut down since '73 Though its life still survives through the years." "This shop was created for children Who would dance at the sound of the bell ringing with joy of the treasures within When - The children stopped singing All falling down and never came back again" The story was told with a shadow of sorrow Leaving me longing for laughter of young girls and boys from the dark storefront windows I could almost hear the tinkling bell calling the children to come out and gather around an old man telling delightful tales from noon until night in a most enchanted vision of storybook worlds with candied dreams and fantasies abounding through the pages The gentleman's eyes twinkled as he winked at me, before vanishing into the air I looked all around, but he couldn't be found The man with the hand made of steel "Excuse me," I said to a boy crossing the quiet street "But - did you happen to notice an elderly gentleman standing here a few moments ago?" "Why, no," said the boy with a curious glance toward my confused and bewildered expression "but beware where you stand - for it's rumored a man haunts the house that you see there before you. "He opened the store for his daughter, and closed it for reasons the same. She died of the plague and in his own agony cut off his right hand She was a part of him, you see." "Rather sad," remarked the boy Glancing at the decaying building with its rusting frames and dusty windowpanes as he walked away Leaving me to the lonely shop where the street signs read Parker and Maine For a moment I stood remorsefully gazing at what had been as time melted through the cracks of eternity A store called Becky's Books seemed to come alive and from the concrete sidewalk I noticed three small purple flowers calmly resting, as though they had been waiting for me to notice their presence and pick them up, gently placing the posies within my pocket A familiar tune from my youth played Spinning around in my head While I walked away from a musty old bookstore at the intersection of Parker and Maine. And I could almost swear, I heard the children singing as they danced Holding hands in a circle and laughing as they all fell down. March 24, 2004