Under the Light
“I’d always had a special love for books. I liked all kinds—children’s stories, song books, poetry, histories—but my favorites were novels. Our town didn’t have a library and when I was a child my parents did not own books, so I was forced to borrow them from neighbors and friends, sell what I could to buy them—my plum preserves bartered a slightly used copy of Ivanhoe once. I never stole one, but when I was sixteen I did trade a tablecloth for Little Dorrit. A tearful confession of love for whi...ch you have waited three hundred pages was much better than eating off white lace.
I sat in the back seat of Jenny’s car on the way home from church, my mind swimming with wonderful stories, any one of which I would love to read for the first time all over again along with Jenny. I could hardly sit still in the car—to think I could reread any books we chose, that I helped Jenny choose, running my finger under certain words and phrases to communicate with her all my deepest thoughts.MoreLess
I sat in the back seat of Jenny’s car on the way home from church, my mind swimming with wonderful stories, any one of which I would love to read for the first time all over again along with Jenny. I could hardly sit still in the car—to think I could reread any books we chose, that I helped Jenny choose, running my finger under certain words and phrases to communicate with her all my deepest thoughts.MoreLess
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