Borders vs, Big Monkey

I'm reminded this week of a summer evening years ago, typical of N. Virginia, where the sky darkens suddenly in the advent of a storm.

Leaving work, I was too early for the Hospice camp mixer so I pulled into Borders in Fairfax on Route 50. After browsing for a while, I sat in the cafe by a picture window watching the tempest past. This was my introduction to Elie Wiesel's memoirs, something you read which never entirely leaves you again.

What brought our tight band of volunteers together that night was the renewal of friendship, and instructions to newcomers, about a camp which teaches children how to cope with death just as Wiesel spent his lifetime after the Camps reconciling his survival and commemorating those who didn't.

Sixty years later, we who are second generation to those who perished, remember lost family members we never knew; one way is immersion in the immense literature of war and suffering, which I only do now during the starkest days of winter when there is little light lest I wallow in despair.

Another way is to cling to the comfort of a safe American past. On Saturday mornings while the house is still, I reach for stories of superheroes before reading excerpts from the biographical or historical tomes to heavy to carry on the train.

The shop where I buy comics, Big Monkey, in Massaponax, will likely close at the end of September, another victim of the failing economy. It's not the purchasing habits of old men like myself which keep a small business afloat - it's kids whose parents must choose between giving their child $20 and filling half a tank of gas.

Our local rag conducts a poll every year on stores people most want to locate here. Even though Barnes & Nobles and Trader Joe's top the list, whatever studies those corporations consult don't as of yet indicate promising local demographic support, though, later this year a Wegmans will open and perhaps, if successful, they'll be the wedge which opens the door to other desirable chains.

I've never believed the presence of a Borders or Barnes & Nobles in a small town drives independent bookstores like Big Monkey out. I, for one, patronize both, heavily, to the long-suffering chagrin of the wife, if you must know. I'm convinced,
reading materials, of all kinds, unlike clothes or hardware are sufficiently unique, taste-wise, to stand alone despite competition, when the economy is healthy.

If Big Monkey closes, the loss is personal, since there will be one less thing to talk about at church on Sunday with other Peter Pans - no Infinity Crisis', no end of the world, no imaginative tales of the universe and cosmic wars of Creation to mull over which mirror God's own endeavors.

No more chats about stories over coffee with friends I love dearly, and who, to a great degree, carry my hopes for a good long life forward with them.