"We're glad you're still here."
It's something that people say with somewhat disconcerting regularity in the store. I usually try to receive it in the spirit in which it is offered. Sometimes, it seems to express gratitude that there is still an independent bookstore to visit and in which to find things and occasionally talk about them. Other times, I take it more like "We're glad that *this* store that I love hasn't gone away." (We are too.)
But lately, I find myself taking the question in its most existential resonance. I'll stare into the distance for a quiet second and say "... *Am* I?... " And then we both laugh because they have picked up *my* implicit meaning. In an instant of recognition, we are sharing a moment of laughter in a safe place full of interesting things and beautiful distractions and the most durable comforts of community. When the world seems to have gone crazy (and it has been doing that a lot), I really am glad that I'm still here, but I'm also glad that we are as well, and it is a seriously magical thing.
Which is another way of saying: we're glad you're here.
