Muse in a box

A little brass bell rings as I push the door open, alarming the shopkeeper of my arrival. He turns from the shelves and smiles at me. He is tall and thin with dark, black hair, and brown eyes. I notice he has a warm smile, and he reminds me somewhat of a librarian. His soft voice fills the small space as he greets me with a heartily “Hello”, followed by the usual, “May I help you?” I meet his smile, and with a quick glance around onto the many shelves, I nod, realizing I will never find what I am looking for on my own. He gestures at the counter and we both move towards it. As he walks behind it, putting the old wood and glass bureau that serves at a counter between us, he asks, “Are you looking for something special?” I answer honestly that I don’t know what I want, what I need.

In my mind I add that this was an impulse, suddenly seeing the shop where I have never noticed a shop before, squeezed in between a pharmacy and a hairdresser. And the sign, in bold antique-looking letters, reading “Inspiration”, found my attention. And inspiration is just what I need, I thought to myself. The shop, with its big, dusty, windows and brown, frail-looking wooden door instantly called to me, and welcomed me in. Going in I did not know what to expect and I was both excited and nervous.

My trail of thought is interrupted by the shopkeeper who is waiving his hands and motioning bizarre gestures while he explains, “We just got in some more inspiration yesterday which is all the rave nowadays. I can hardly keep up with the demand!” He smiles at me, his hands frozen mid-air, and clearly awaiting my not-so-enthusiastic: “And what is hot these days?” “Oh my, haven’t you noticed?”, he asks rhetorically. “Vampires, baby!” He leans forward over the counter, way across my comfort-zone and almost shouts it out, as if I was hard of hearing. He continues his tirade with his arms waving flamboyantly, “The supernatural put in natural context. Like its ordinary. Reality meets sub-reality”, he lowers his voice and adds, “It’s sensuality and it’s sexy, the danger, the biting. What is forbidden is always what we lust for.” His cheeks turn red by the very thought, and he straitens up, dusting his shirt for some imaginary dirt, clearing his throat.

“I don’t think I want to write about vampires”, I tell him. I look around for words to explain what I want, not sure what it really is. “I just..”, I begin, “I just want to write about life and love, small reflections of the world as I see it. I need inspiration to create characters and bring them to life in a short story or essay. I miss the feeling of words flowing effortlessly, and the heart pounding with haste because I know I’m creating“, my voice fades, and my eyes catches hold of his, awaiting his reply. I feel I need to add, “You see, I’m not a writer, I just do it like on a hobby-basis. To relax, to flee from the world a bit. You understand?”

His eyes light up as if turned on by the light bulb I imagine going off over his head, and he starts gesturing enthusiastically again. “I have just what you need!” He walks quickly to a small table in the middle of the room with a lot of different boxes on it. He picks up a light blue box with a thin white ribbon on it, not bigger than a jewelry box. “This one is perfect for you”, he says as he walks towards me, holding out the box carefully like he was carrying a precious gem, or a raving mad cat. Picturing just that, I smile. My eyes are locked on the box, and though I still don’t know what it contains, I already feel the need to own it. I want it. “This is inspiration for beginners”, he tells me. “It’s a bit of everything; love-stories, science-fiction, mystery and poetry, to mention a few. This is inspiration for short-stories. This is”, he adds solemnly, “inspiration for you”.

I’m instantly hooked and without thinking of what it costs, I reply, “I’ll take it!” He rings it up and hands me the box in a grey paper bag with the picture of a pen and a piece of paper on it. I take it and a bit embarrassed I ask, “How do I do it? How does it work?” He smiles at me, suddenly calm and serious. “You go home, and open the box. Make sure you are alone. And then you start writing, and inspiration will fill you with words and joy will ring clear in your heart as you write your stories of love and loss, and the world as you see it. The inspiration will roll over your mind as a tidal wave washes the shore, and brings with it the bounty of the deep sea. It will leave you as a lover leaving your bed at night, the sheets still warm from his skin and you blossoming with the sense of satisfaction and rebirth” He exhales as I hold my breath with the want for everything he just described.

I thank him for all his help and patience, and turn to walk away. As I walk out the door, he calls out at me, “Come back and see me next month! I’m getting in a supply of folklore inspiration which is all the rave in America now!”