What Passing Bells (Pt. 2)

“Wilfred Owen…”

“Wilfred Owen Clark.”

She tilts her head to the left to get a better look at him. She’s short, but rather looks like a goose with her long neck and tweed cardigan. “And you’re gonna buy this book?” She holds up a copy of The Collected Poems of Wilfred Owen with an overly amused look on her face.

“No,” he says, “I want to rent the stupid thing.”

Her bubblegum clicks loudly in her mouth. “I’m sorry, but this is a new text book, it’s not available for rent.”

“How much is it?”

“Eleven, fifty four. Cash, credit or debit?”

“What? It’s at least a couple bucks cheaper on Amazon.”

“We’re just a local business, Wilfred, we can’t afford the discounts that Amazon provides.”

“Just Wil, thanks,” he snaps. Wil feels bad. She didn’t deserve that. Really, what retail associate wants to stand around with a costumer that came into their store expecting to have a bad day. It’s a self fulfilling prophecy. “Look, I just need this book to study for one stupid exam in my literature class. Can I just borrow this?”

“I really just work here, I can’t offer that kind of-”

“Nevermind. Debit.”

“Swipe when you see the green flashing lights…”

There were no lights. Wilfred stands there, pinching his lips together, making him look a bit like a goose himself. The moment is awkward, and long.

She senses his impatience. “It takes a moment.” This doesn’t improve his mood. “So… What’s up with your name?”

Wil raises an eyebrow. “My name? What’s up with yours…” Wil peers over the computer screen to glance at her nametag. It was crooked and water stained in one corner. He squints the name into focus. “…Augusta?”

She yawns, makes sense, she looks like she wanted to pass out the entire time Wil’s been there. “Family name. My great, great, great grandmothers or something. My friends call me Auggy,” She takes a long swig of her coffee. The steam veils her face and fogs up her glasses. “Your turn.”

Wil almost laughs. “Fair enough.” He holds up the book. “Pop’s a giant fan of this guy. Mom had to stop him from reading these as my bedtime stories.”

“A tad too dark?”

“A tad. Never wanted to read them once I was old enough to know Wilfred is a lame name.”

“And now you have to read them.”

“Yep.” The green lights appear, but then stop. “It is supposed to do that?”

“No. Lemme try again.” Wil sighs. Another few minutes pass. “Ok, try it when the lights flash.”
This time the lights appear immediately and Wil zips his card through, quickly punching his PIN after. “About time.”

“I know, right?” she laughs. Her smile catches Wil’s eye. It’s much prettier than he would have guessed. And her laugh sounds like bells chiming in the wind. I hear the bells jingles in his mind but he can’t remember where the phrase came from. “Just got to wait for it to be approved.”

This takes longer than either would have hoped. They start to talk about school. Auggy is a college dropout, said it was her own fault for never staying awake during class. Wil writes coding for computer programs and fancies himself a poet of sorts. “It’s a language no one can really understand,” he says.

“But that’s not the same thing as poetry,” she protests. “You’re telling the computer literally what you want it to do. Poetry is much more nuanced than that. You can’t tell anyone anything if you’re doing it right.”

“That’s an unfair assessment,” says Wil, “You can interrupt the words at literal or you can delve into the hidden meaning. I do the same thing, but with zeroes and ones.”

“Ha ha ha!” Another laugh. Good. “But seriously,” says Auggy, “Look a little deeper into his work. Owen’s. You may like it more than you think. And then the trenches of that class may not be so bad.”
“Trenches? Is that a pun?”

The machine produces a receipt. “Finally!” Auggy cries. The word spears him through the gut. “Here you go, Wil,” she hands him his coveted book and receipt in a small plastic bag.

He hands the bag back. “I’ll just carry it.” 


“You sure? It’s gonna rain.”

“It’s not going to rain.”

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because I said so?”

Auggy laughs. “Alright. Well, remember you can’t return that book with water damage so, you know, keep it dry.”

It pours on Wil’s way home, his jacket barely keeps the binding together. An elaborate set up of fans manages to dry it out. He almost forgot about the $11.54 that he spent on it and rather lingered on his memory of Auggy’s wrinkled nose when she laughed. He knows he will fail the exam.