A Sad Sight

Shortly after news broke that Borders was closing all locations, I paid a visit to my local store. I wanted to check out some books and pick up a few magazines, just like I've done countless times over the years. From pictures of other locations online I expected to see big yellow signs announcing impending doom and many empty shelves, and I braced myself accordingly.

But I didn't expect this:

Or this:


I'd planned to get an iced coffee on my way out, just like I've done countless times over the years. But the cafe was closed. Empty. I hadn't looked that way when I entered the store so literally stopped short when I saw the space and realized that if I was going to have iced coffee that afternoon, I'd have to get it elsewhere.

For some reason, this hit me harder than the yellow signs and barren shelves. I spent a LOT of time in that cafe. I worked on every single one of my books there, sometimes several hours a day, several days a week. I wrote more pages of Siren by those windows than anywhere else. I enjoyed the atmosphere and, depending on the time of day and year, the company of students and knitters, retirees and families, writers and readers.

Borders wasn't just a bookstore. It was a gathering place. A community. And I miss it already.