Reaching For Little Aggy

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

It was six years after mum died that I wandered into that second hand bookshop. It was one of those hodgepodge ones, no curation or quality control. I’m just frittering time waiting for my train. Feeling my age, especially when the young man behind the counter immediately asked if I needed help and called me ma’am.

The words “sod off” transmute into “Oh no, thank you luv, I’m fine” in my mouth.

He’s only trying to be kind. Watching me closely, like I might totter and fall at any moment. As if I didn’t walk in here unassisted wearing ramblers gear!

I turn my back to him and my attention to the books. The only ones I recognise are a set of children’s books from sixty years ago - good books, at least then. Probably very dated now.

Looking at the tidy, faded, complete matching set, I suspect someone my age just passed and their children - or grandchildren - donated everything. Well, it’s better than a skip. Still made me feel my age more keenly.

It’s at this moment I see the book. “Reconnecting With Your Inner Child” by “Dr Virginia Greene”. Well, I know better than to fall for that! She could be a doctor of anything. So I pick the book up and flip it over and turns out she’s a doctor of psychology. Well. Good.

I read the blurb. Only because I’m already holding the book. I’d heard about this “inner child” idea but never thought much. Assumed I didn’t have such a thing because I never felt like I’d really been a child. Too busy looking after three younger siblings and then dad after his accident and of course the house since mum had to go back to work…

Turns out that is exactly the sort of childhood which might leave you with an adrift inner child.

Buying the book is an impulse. It’s not the sort of thing I want to read on the train. Neither is the collection of children’s books from when I was seven, but I put those on the counter too. I don’t look the young man in the eye but he just smiles reassuringly and rings it all up and doesn’t complain when I grab a random romance novel from the display by the till and add that on top.

I read the forgettable novel on the train home. The rest of the books sit for weeks in the corner of my craft room. Finally, a cold dreary day when I’m feeling out of sorts, I pull it out and read it.

Much of it seemed silly at first. Sometimes it still feels silly.

But I no longer feel pangs when I see old-fashioned lollipops. I’ve made peace with my siblings, even Seth. I’ve forgiven mum and dad, too. Had to admit I was angry first. I’ve drawn up a bucket list of walks - and turns out many other ramblers like the idea.

And I buy myself all my old jolly books.

Prompt was “Write from the perspective of an elderly person about the topic of their inner child.”