"I've been trying to read the books you gave me, though I have to admit I'm finding Howard's End quite heavy-going. It's like they've been drinking the same cup of tea for two hundred pages, and I keep waiting for someone to pull a knife or an alien invasion or something, but that's not going to happen is it?"
Received a mysterious and exciting looking package from a dear friend in Brooklyn yesterday. The contents were a pre-loved and battered book called One Day and a nice card filled with caring words. The package was a little delayed getting to me, since my address has changed about ten million times since late July, when we exchanged information in North Carolina. Because of this, I had to pay the disgruntled mail man $3.17 before he would hand over the package. I tipped him eight cents for his trouble.
There's something about reading a book that has been read by someone before you, especially when said person is a dear friend you probably won't see for a long while. I can picture the journey this book must have made with this person, shoved into a bag as a subway stop came sooner than expected, coffee spilled on it in a moment of crisis when a person who looked vaguely like Hugh Jackman asked for the time, etc, etc.
And it's a beautiful book thus far. I have a feeling it will break my heart, but for now, I will just enjoy the weight of its 437 pages resting in my hands, an unbroken promise, so full of hope.
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