Georgia Pine

Maxine jumped up and down, clapping her hands unable to contain her excitement. The Bodhi Tree was a mystical world lined with rows and rows of imaginative books covered in angels and fairies. Her grandmother explained she was refueling the tank, a spiritual tune-up. Max had to look way, way up, crook her neck to see Harry when she spoke. Rainbow chimes and crystals danced on the ceiling shooting flecks of light caught in their spell. The stained glass windows cast streams of afternoon sunlight, a secret, mystic code. The chubby, calico cat brushed Maxine’s leg, purring. She giggled, kneeling down to rub her fat belly. “Ivy-ness, you sweetie, sweetie poo, did you miss me?” Ivy was a stray the bookstore adopted, the beloved mascot, who got far too many belly rubs. She was a very spoiled kitty. Bells jingled whenever someone opened or closed the door. Enchanted, Max was sure her grandmother introduced her to a dreamlike world. The six year old big, blue eyes mesmerized by every shiny crystal, tiger eye stone, the humongous tree in the garden, red scuffed plank floors, torn posters of funning looking men hung on the walls, behind the counter, the goofy man dressed in plaid shirt and striped shorts, the books she could not yet read, touching their spines, her grandmother greeted like a star. She did not know who Harrison had been, she was the grandmother Max idolized. Her skin prickly, giddy, childlike excitement, the secret time she did not have to share. It was the aroma that got her, as her growing mind and time began to fade the fond memory. The particular, pungent odor remained, the direct olfactory pathway to her long dead cherished grandmother and the bookstore that transformed into a fantasy world of fun. The Bodhi Tree, like most magic, is temporary. Buddhists believe the Bodhi tree sacred, sitting under it in quiet contemplation leads to ‘awareness’ and ‘enlightenment.’ Maxine did not understand the big word concept, or that her grandmother knew she was dying. She trusted how clean, happy, good it made her feel. Six year olds don’t need grandiose, complicated explanations.