Thursday afternoon was hot as a skillet.  It was July, but still much hotter than normal.  That morning I had overheard Betty, the weather lady, on the television say that it was going to be a “record breaking day”.  I had heard of temperature records a zillion times, but had yet to think about how silly the idea was.

I was walking down a long city street lined with manholes and bus stops and had nothing better to do.  So I began thinking about weather records.  How do weather people react to the breaking of weather records?  Do they throw parties with cupcakes and trophies?  Or do they cry and wipe their tears with their hair because the record that was broken was their favorite meteorological record of all time?

It didn’t matter, there was a bum in a navy blue winter coat throwing bread at the passing traffic.  And that was much more interesting than weather parties.  Terrified of being hit by a slice of bread, I took extra caution as I passed him.  Smiling faintly and eyeing him the whole time.  It didn’t matter.  He didn’t acknowledge me.  I’m not even sure he knew I was there.

I continued to walk, passing manhole after manhole until I came to the front door of the Antiquarian Bookstore.  It looked like hell from the outside and had a bad rendition of a good rendition of Shakespeare above the door.

A bell jingled as I walked in to the musty and dusty store.  A polite-looking woman in her 90s was smiling and standing behind the counter.

I walked passed the counter towards the big sofa in the back.  On my way to the comfy cushions I grabbed Up the down staircase, a novel by Bel Kaufman.  I sat down and thumbed through the pages.  The story was about a schoolteacher in a metropolitan high school.  It looked interesting enough and I got excited.  Maybe it would be funny or talk about weather records.

I began reading.  The book starts on page 13, which I like because it makes me feel like I have a head start.  I read for a little while, despite the old woman at the front counter.  She had yet to move, which made things a little awkward.  But I kept reading anyway.

When I flipped from page 47 to 48, I found an old napkin stuck in the spine.  The napkin was folded tight, having been pressed flat throughout the years.

I reached for the napkin, but hesitated, not wanting to interrupt any predetermined, secret rendezvous.  But I unfolded it anyway because anyone who would be rendezvousing was sure to be long gone by now.

The napkin was crispy and thin and it crackled a little as I unfolded it.  The message that was written on the napkin said, “On a record breaking day in July, we will find the truth.”

Puzzled, I reread the napkin, then looked up to think.  There she was.  The 90 year old lady who hadn’t moved since I entered the store was standing before me with a ripe, green pear in one hand and a white linen napkin in the other.

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