The Things That I Read

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She stood there beside my pod, I was reading up on the Amityville Horror, trying desperately to keep myself awake with tales from the paranormal. I asked her who my new supervisor was; we've heard rumors about a breaking up of groups. She took my glasses, which were resting with its arms unfolded, on top of my schedule folder. She began to clean the lenses with her black wool jacket sleeve and assured me that I wasn't going to be under our Hitlerian boss. She put the glasses on, its elliptical frame resting on her cheeks. She asked me if it looked good on her, its arms unfolded resting on her auricles. I said not really, the frame is too rounded for her face. She gave a nod, then took my glasses off. I proceeded to wear them after she left. With my other hand cleaved between the book from where I left off, I continued reading with clarity.

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So she started to ask me while we were seeded in between rows of tall wooden shelves of purchasable knowledge, "Tell me, did you have a thing for you-know-who?"

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"Thing? What thing? What are you talking about?," sounding sarcastic but nonetheless most obviously unable to keep my denial askew.

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"You tell me this is the second time you went here with that feeling you'd see you-know-who in you-know-where. There must be something you're not telling me."

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"Fine. Let's just say you-know-who is the edition of the novel I'm looking for. If only it were in the same genre I was delving into, then I would be a very happy bookworm indeed!"

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It was true though. I stayed for more than a fair share of friendly minutes catching up, wondering what it was I saw in it's idealistic words, the silky feel of its sleeves, the smell of its pages. I wondered what it was about the possibility of encountering chaos in reading the story's finale without skimming through the threads, how brilliant the author was with imagery, how passionate the words were with emotions ... always had been an extraordinary writer.

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Somewhere between the shelves we exchanged numbers. It was like asking to sign an autograph.

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