Previously Enjoyed

I love reading and I read a lot. My choices are rather eclectic as my curiosity is limitless. Given the fact that the local bookstores tend to keep only very recent publications, I usually order online and often I have taken advantage of the used book section. It is always a gamble though if you really care about the condition of the book. I don’t. I hate when a book smells old or dusty, but apart from that, I like a book which has previously been enjoyed. It holds a reassuring element to it: at least one other person has taken the time to buy it, if not to read it. I also like to see what other people do to their books. I am the worst person you should lend a book to, unless you have no intention of getting it back. The first thing I do is break the spine. I also fold pages to mark my place, write on the pages and underline interesting passages.

Some time ago, I ordered a few used books. Two of them arrive at almost the same time with little extras. I was thrilled. The first one was a memoir from Isabel Allende. She has always been amongst my favorites, especially for her earlier work which colored my teenage with romantic political chaos.

As soon as I leafed through the pages of her book, I found a ticket for a concert featuring David Gray playing at Aggams Arena at Boston University on Saturday, October 8, 2005 at 7:30 pm. It was a pretty good ticket too, closest to the performing area, lower level, section 102, G row, seat 22. It was worth $40.00, the second most expensive seat section that night. The ticket had not been used. The stubs were still attached. I wonder why she had not attended. How did the ticket end up in the book? Was it hers? Who was she? What better plans did she have that Saturday night?

The second book was by Douglas Kennedy. A tale set amidst the optimism of postwar New York and the subsequent nightmare of the McCarthy witch-hunts. When I reached page 469, I found a thin and crisp visa receipt for the exact sum of $40.00. It was dated April 26, 2003. I wonder what one may purchase for that exact amount. The purchase had been made at Ace Hardware on West 4th Avenue in Ainsworth Nebraska. Her card had expired three years earlier. Her name was Patricia. As I read the book, I often wondered what Patricia had thought of it. Although American, Kennedy is not even published in the States, how did she discover the author, had she traveled to England?

I love these little trifles which trigger my imagination. They have the same effect on me as flying saucers on others: they are a proof that there are others out there, people living and dreaming and sometimes unbeknownst to them, sharing a piece of themselves with me.