Short Story: Amelia’s Magic Traveling Bookshop

This story is included in the Redwood Writers 2024 Prose Anthology, Transitions. This Sunday (Oct. 13) I will get to read this story at the launch party! I really loved the magical realism in this story, and it reminded me how much I love writing this genre. I plan to, sometime in the future, include magical realism in my novels — much like I did back when I wrote Come Here, Cupcake.

But not yet. For now, it’s fun to include it in some of my short stories, like this one:

Amelia’s Magic Traveling Bookshop

by Crissi Langwell

The second hand clicks on my mother’s old clock, counting down the seconds to when I would say goodbye to “Amelia’s Book Lounge,” named after me when I was only three years old. My mom had had such grand visions for her bookshop. But five years after her passing, I’ve managed to run this place into the ground. 

Now here I am, in the final five minutes of business, and not one person has come in to buy a book. Not even a good old fashioned “Everything Must Go” sign could bring me new readers. 

“Brrr?” my Maine Coon cat chirps beside me on the counter. 

“You’re right, Pajamas. It’s quitting time.” 

I stroke her fur, then move around the counter to turn the sign to “Closed” and let it remain that way forever. Tomorrow I’ll pack up the store. But tonight I’ll enjoy a whole bottle of wine and a carton of ice cream while I search Craigslist for my next job. 

Just as I’m about to reach the door, however, it opens with a jingle of bells, followed by a breathless man. 

“Are you still open?” He’s about my father’s age, from what I can tell, his peppery hair clinging to his sweaty brow like he ran the whole way here.  

“Of course! Can I help you find anything?” I vow to remain open as long as he wants. He can search the shelves all night. 

“A bathroom.” 

I lose my customer service smile and point toward the room in the back. He makes haste, leaving me with Pajamas, wishing I’d turned the sign five minutes earlier. 

I look out the window while I wait, noting the Volkswagen bus sitting against the curb, a “For Sale” sign in the window. It’s red and white, just like a model one I had as a kid. I used to push that car around, pretending I was traveling the countryside with no home to call my own. 

The guy returns from the bathroom looking a whole lot more relaxed. 

“Sorry about that. The air conditioner quit about an hour ago and it’s hot as blazes. And my bladder…” He waves his hand. “Sorry, TMI.” He shoots me an apologetic smile, then pushes through the door. I watch as he leaves, my breath quickening when I see him unlock the front door of the VW bus.

“Sir!” I burst outside and jog to him. He turns, a secret in his smile.

“The bus,” I say. “It’s for sale?”

I don’t know why I’m asking. I have nothing left.

“It is. Do you want to take a look?” He leans close. “Careful, it’s magic,” he teases. 

“I don’t doubt it. How much is it?” He could say five dollars, and I couldn’t pay him.

“Well, I haven’t decided yet,” he admits. “But for the right person, I’d work something out.” 

I’m a goner when he opens the sliding door. 

“It has bookshelves?” I exclaim, my eyes raking over shelves of books with latching doors. It’s as if this bus was made for me! I can’t help fantasizing about owning my own traveling bookshop, spreading joy through books all across the country. 

He peers in, almost as if he’s surprised. But then he grins. 

“It sure does. Why don’t you take it for a spin?”

I have no business feeding this fantasy. Still, I nod my head, eyes wide, and he places the keys in my hand. I look at them, in awe of even holding them. I want this bookmobile so bad. It’s going to break my heart to tell him I can’t afford it. 

But when I look up, there’s no one there. I look to the right, to the left. Back in the shop. Then I search the bus. 

Pajamas hops in with a chirp, then finds her place in the passenger seat. Next to her is my purse, which I don’t remember retrieving. Behind her are shelves filled with books. 

The man is gone, and everything about this van feels like it was meant for me.

What if I just…went? 

I sit in the driver’s seat. Turning the key in the ignition, I’m met by a blast of cold air from the air conditioner. 

“His AC works just fine,” I tell Pajamas. 

“Brrrr?” she agrees. 

I put the car in drive, trying not to think too hard as I head for places unknown. 

✱ ✱ ✱

We’re on the road all night, and well into the morning. The gas gauge seems stuck at full, but my stomach is on empty. Glancing at Pajamas, I’m fairly certain she could use a can of tuna, too, and maybe a dirt patch to do her business. 

Driving slowly, I search both sides of the street until I find a little café with a promising parking lot where I could open shop. Nervous butterflies swarm my empty belly. What if this works? What if people actually buy my books? 

I head into the café and order a coffee, a yogurt, and a can of tuna. The girl looks at me strangely, but accommodates my requests. 

I glance outside to see Pajamas waiting patiently for me at the café door, apparently done with her duties. 

“Just a moment,” I promise her. 

“Shhh!” 

I turn to find a guy at one of the tables glaring at me through his thick-framed square glasses, hunched over a computer next to three empty coffee cups. 

“Oh sorry, I thought this was…”

“Aaaand it’s gone again,” he mutters, slamming his laptop shut and kicking the chair across from him. “Thanks a lot.”

“Um, you’re welcome?” I eye the toppled chair, wondering if I should set it right.

“Amelia!” the barista calls, saving me from this disgruntled guy. I grab my items and rush out of the cafe, Pajamas at my heels. 

At the bus, I give the cat her food on a paper plate, accompanied by a bowl of water. Even though I’m hungry, I start setting up shop. I pull out tables, then open the shelves. I find an A-frame sign among the books, along with a black Sharpie. I think for a moment, then scrawl out “Amelia’s Magic Traveling Bookshop,” because this surely feels magic.

Once I’m set up, I settle onto a park bench next to the van and enjoy my breakfast. When that same guy storms out of the café, I brace myself and put on my friendliest smile. 

“Can I help you?” I ask, standing as he approaches me. 

“Likely no.” He ducks his head and lets out a loud breath as his shoulders slouch. “I’m Jacob. And I’m sorry for that back there. I’m on deadline, and unfortunately suffering from the worst case of writer’s block. I seem to have forgotten how to write anything. Everything ends up a word salad of adverbs and cliches. I just…” He looks at the sky. “I think I’ve run out of things to say.”

“Now hold on a second.” I take his arm and lead him to the side of the bus. “My mother used to tell me there is nothing in the world a good book can’t solve. And I happen to have a whole bus of them. What if you take a look and see if something spurs a little inspiration?”

Jacob hesitates, but then shrugs and enters the bus.

I have no idea what’s in there. I could be wasting both of our time on this venture. But like this guy, I have nothing to lose. If he leaves without finding a book, I’m no worse off than I was before.

“Wow, I’ve been looking for this everywhere,” he says, holding up a book on method writing. “Oh, and this one! Wow, first edition!”

Jacob keeps finding books he wants. I try to hide my grin, but I’m elated. When he’s done, he has a stack of twelve books, and he keeps looking back at the shelves. 

“You didn’t tell me these books were for writers,” he says as I ring him up. 

I deflate a little at this. They are? That’s such limited inventory. What if someone wants a romance book? Or a mystery? Or one that tells about the stars?

We part ways, and I hang around town for a few more hours, hoping for another sale. A few curious people look in my direction, but no one stops. So, while the sun is still high, I pack it in and head to the next town. 

I don’t get far. The bus sputters and coughs on the coastal highway, then whines to a stop at a long turnoff overlooking the ocean. I turn the key, but the engine only utters a death rattle. 

“I think I know why the bus was for sale,” I tell Pajamas. Never mind that it was free. Now I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of books and a useless vehicle. 

I get out and open the trunk, revealing an engine I know nothing about. I fiddle with a few things, coming away with grease on my hands and no solution. I’m about ready to kick the tires, but that’s when I notice a girl at the cliffside, a canvas in front of her and a frustrated look on her face. Then she winds up and throws one of her paintbrushes over the cliff. I watch in horror as it drops out of sight. 

“What are you doing?” I run toward her.

“Quitting!” She winds up again.  I snatch the brush from her hand before she can throw it. 

“You can’t quit!” I look at her painting, noting her version of the ocean gracing the canvas. “You’re quite talented.” 

“I’m not, though. See there? My proportions are all wrong. The colors are muddy. The shadows aren’t consistent.” She goes on, pointing out things invisible to my eye.

“I never would have noticed,” I say honestly. 

“I notice. I have an art show coming up next week, and nothing is turning out right. I don’t know what to do.” She sighs. “The great Hannah Alistair. Wait till they find out I’m a fraud.”

I look at the painting, which still looks pretty good to me. Then I look at the van. 

“Hannah, is it? Well, Hannah, maybe I can help. I have a whole bus of books over there. Most are on writing, but I might have something that will help you see things in a different light. If anything, a break could help. Would you like to take a look?”

“I guess.” She places her brushes on the easel and follows me to the bus. I slide open the door, and her eyes widen. “Wow, you weren’t kidding!” She steps in and gasps at the first book she picks up. “This one on Monet! I saw it once in a bookstore in France and haven’t been able to find it since. But you have it!” She continues perusing the shelves, eliciting breathy exclamations as she finds one book after another. 

“I’ll take all of these.”  She thrusts a stack of twenty books at me. I ring them up, realizing that I’ve sold more today than I have in the last week at the store. 

I tidy the van when she’s done, taking a look at the shelves as I do. They are all books about art—some picture books, others on technique, and all wildly fascinating. But when I take a second look, all I see are dusty old tomes with uninteresting titles. Nothing about art. Nothing about writing. 

I get back into the driver’s seat, and just for kicks, start the bus again. This time it springs to life, purring just like Pajamas in the passenger seat. 

Careful, it’s magic, that guy had told me. 

I think I’m starting to understand. 

I honk my goodbye as I leave the turnout, but Hannah is engrossed in her painting—a book in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. 

✱ ✱ ✱

I spend years on the road, traveling town to town. At every stop, I put books in the hands of people who need them. A mother with her colicky baby. A shy young man looking for courage. A future soccer star. A hobbyist ready to start a business.

Pajamas has been at my side the whole while, witnessing transformations that started with a good book. Now she’s getting old and gray, and I’m starting to wonder what it’s like to stay in one place. 

The air conditioning quits as I approach a small town in California. I’ve driven this darling long enough to understand, and take the next exit. The bus sputters to a stop in front of a small pastry shop, surrounded by empty tables despite the warm morning sunshine.

I get out, thinking I might find something to eat, but then I notice the sign on the window: “Closing. Last day Friday.” 

That’s today. And not one customer appears to have shown up. 

“What do you say, Pajamas?” I scoop her up and head inside. The bells jingle when I open the door, but the two people at the counter don’t even look my way. 

“We can get jobs,” the young man says, consoling the crying girl. “Maybe move in with your parents.”

I clear my throat. 

“Oh, sorry.” The woman looks up, brushing away tears. “You’ve just caught us. I’m Alice, and this is Peter, and today is…. Well, it’s our last day. Can I get you anything? It’s all half off.”

“Your bathroom,” I say. “Can my cat hang out?”

 “It’s not like the health inspector will shut us down,” Peter jokes, but his laugh sounds like choking.

I leave Pajamas in the cafe and use their facilities. When I return, the place is empty. Pajamas sits alone on the concrete floor. 

“Brrr?” she chirps. 

“Outside, you say?” I peer toward the van, biting back a smile as I watch the couple circling the red and white vehicle. Pajamas crawls back into my arms, and I join them outside. 

“You have an oven in your van?” Alice exclaims. The side door is wide open even though I had left it shut. Sure enough, there’s an oven and counter space where the bookshelves used to be, and a pantry full of jars and containers with labels like sugar, flour, and salt. 

“I suppose I do.” A “For Sale” sign rests on the van’s window. 

“How much?” Peter asks.

“We can’t afford it,” Alice whispers loudly, swatting him on the arm.

“Well, why don’t you take it for a test ride?” I hand Peter the keys. “When you get back, we can work out a price.” I lean close. “Careful, it’s magic.”

The two of them hop in, chattering excitedly. I only hear snippets of their conversation. I imagine when they look up, they will wonder where I went.

And I will wonder about their adventure.