My closest bookstore has gone out of business.
This makes me sad.
And the sad part is, it makes me sad not because the impact on me will be that great, but because of how my brain works. I’m less sad about what it means for the future than what it means for the past.
I am, for those that don’t know this about me, an overwhelmingly nostalgic person.
I didn’t even go to that Books-A-Million that much anymore. Heck, I probably went more frequently to the Barnes & Noble I had to pass it to get to, simply because I had more reasons to go to that shopping center.
And there’s another Books-A-Million still open in town, so if I have Books-A-Million-specific needs, I can still go there.
Truth be told, and this is probably why the Books-A-Million is closing, I do the bulk of my book-buying online these days.
So the real net impact on me is pretty minimal. There are plenty of other options.
But none of those other options have the same memories.
I went to the store a week ago today, the day before it closed. I went mainly to see if there were any bargains to be had, but, being me, couldn’t help to be haunted by memories on practically every aisle. Many of happier times, a few not so much. Those aisles were touchstones of those memories, and it makes me sad that I’ll not be able to revisit them again, never be able to stand where I stood when … Never be able to look again where I saw …
And that’s silly, and I know it. But it’s who I am. And who I am will miss my Books-A-Million. I ended up leaving before the sense of loss swallowed me whole. The sense of loss over a bookstore I didn’t even go to that much anymore.
I will add this, however — in the last three years, every book chain in Huntsville has had stores close except for Barnes & Noble.
Guess which is the only book chain in Huntsville to carry Homesteading Space.