Monday, April 18, 2011

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“Pick me! Pick me! Pick me!” The voices were coming


from all directions as I was standing in the middle of


the aisle. Good thing I am the only person in here, I


thought, I have been walking up and down for the last


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fifteen minutes. I nervously look around at all my


choices. They all look so tempting; sometimes it’s


impossible to choose just one. I pick up a thick


hardcover with a seductive woman on the cover. “A


romantic novel, based on the island of Australia,


trails the life of Veronica de Havilland.” Too


predictable, I think. I decide to choose a paperback


without any pictures; there’s just the title and the


author. Simple, yet alluring. I’ll give this one a try


and all the little “Pick me!” voices begin to subside.


It’s a Friday night and you’re probably wondering why


my biggest contemplation is over a book, instead of


which new movie to watch. My perfect night would be


spent reading at Barnes and Noble and never having to


leave. Usually, Barnes and Noble closes promptly at


eleven o’ clock at night. I’ve suggested several times


to the manager to consider extending the business


hours. Maybe it’s my age, but it didn’t seem as if my


suggestion had any significance. Or it could be the


fact that whenever I come, which happens to be every


week religiously, I end up gathering a pile of books


and I never seem to have enough time to get to all of


them. It’s probably a pain having to reshelf them. I


make a mental post-it note to try not to let my greedy


passion of reading get the best of me. I can’t seem to


find any empty chairs so I decide to sit on the floor.


I turn the first few pages and just before I reach the


first page of the story, I start to giggle silently to


myself. I wonder how the other people around me must


think of me a teenage girl on a Friday night, sitting


on the ground and laughing to herself as her index


finger is marking the beginning of an unpredictable


new journey.


When I was in the first grade, the library near my


house stopped letting me borrow more than twenty-five


books at a time. Now, the bookstore won’t let me stay


past eleven. Of course, I could just buy the book.


But it’s the whole Barnes and Noble experience that


contributes to the exhilaration of reading. It is


like the feeling I get after playing two hour straight


in a concert. My fingertips are swollen and red,


indented because of the string, my arms have been numb


since the start of the last movement and I have played


all the rosin off my bow. My body hurts, but I am on


cloud nine. The soft jazz music, the lingering smell


of coffee from Starbuck’s next door, the occasional


cell phone ring and especially the big soft chairs at


the end of every aisle are all the props the Barnes


and Noble setup needs.


The hands of the clock are nearing eleven o’ clock


and I am halfway through my book. The cashiers will


be closing soon and there are the last few customers


in line. I am walking towards the only exit that is


left open, which I note is on the opposite side of the


parking lot I parked in. My eyes are still indulging


in every word and I can not seem to let go. I hate


being rushed when I am reading and I remind myself to


come back tomorrow. “Miss, will you be purchasing


that book tonight? Our cashiers will be closing in


five minutes.” I quickly scribble something on my


reciept from lunch and reluctantly hand back The


Invisible Man by Ralph EIlison, page 10 to the


employee. As I am left bookless in the middle of the


main aisle in Barnes and Noble, I look around myself


green bookshelves full of adventures just waiting to


be chosen.





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