Two weeks ago…
Pete: You love Neil Gaiman right?
Me: Love is such a subjective word in this case. Would I love to have him read to me in a quiet graveyard by the flickering glow of candlelight while I looked up at the stars? Yes.
Me: You there?
Pete: Uh. Yeah. Um, so like, I found you a first edition Gaiman at a Half Priced Books.
Me: *Squee* First edition Hard cover?
Saturday Night at the ESPN zone:
Pete: Here’s the book I found.
Me: *Squee* Fragile Things! I haven’t read that book, yet! Thank you!
Pete: So about that unhealthy obsession with graveyards…
(At this point, I thumb through the first pages to see if it’s actually a 1st Ed. )
And it is! Then, I realized as I was passing through the pages to get the publishing info that I missed something….
I don’t know why, but I was suddenly filled with a distressing sadness. This book was once given with love to a girl named Rachel. For some reason unknown, the book ended up being resold for half of its value.
My mind raced with possibilities. Did Rachel pass from this life to the next in some unfortunate accident? Maybe instead of throwing out the book when her parents cleaned out her room, they decided to pass it on for a little chunk of change? Did Rachel and her parents have a falling out? Did she run away from home? Perhaps she eloped with a boy for whom her parents didn’t care? Did Rachel need the money for college or to fund an unwanted pregnancy?
So many unknown paths.
The book was warm as I clutched it in my hands. I’d like to think that it’s because the feelings behind the first giving still resonate within the pages. At least that is what I’m hoping.