I had forgotten I love to read. I hadn’t picked up a book during the six months of the new COVID world until last week.
I’ve been writing my way through the pandemic, at least I was until I ran out of things to say – lately I’ve been just putting in days waiting until… until what?
And then a book fell into my lap – I opened it by accident and was sucked into a story faster than I could resist.
The book came into my possession in the sneakiest of fashions – it had been purchased for my nine year old granddaughter and was an age appropriate selection. She brought it with her when she came for a Saturday night sleepover, along with the giant tome she was all but finished reading. Sunday afternoon found us sitting on my patio enjoying the sun when she handed me her new book and suggested maybe we would like to read together – she was anxious to find out what was going to happen to Harry.
I’m nothing if not keen to do whatever my grandchildren want to do at any given moment. I feel blessed they are still of an age where they want to spend time with me. I opened the book.
It matters not what the story was about, although it was brilliant and well written, the fact it held the key to a door I’d closed many months ago was surprising. I was unaware my imagination was so hungry for literary adventure, it immediately picked up a paint brush and brought the characters to life. The words became people I had never met before and yet were so familiar I could anticipate their moves and still be surprised as they made their way through the story.
The afternoon slipped away while we both adventured in different places. We took turns getting more snacks from the kitchen. We were close and worlds apart in the same moment, she in a wizard’s workshop and me back in grade six with some new and relatable friends.
I finished the book in time to send it home with her. As I sat in the quiet she left behind I found myself thinking about the magic that had settled over us as we turned the pages of our respective books. I wondered how her imagination would paint my new friends when it was her turn to read the book I’d just finished. I recalled my own adventures with Harry and Ron and Hermione when I read about them many years ago and how they travelled with me even after I closed the books in which they lived. I sat in the glow of a good story.
I had forgotten I love to read. I’m half way through another book right now, an age appropriate story for people of my vintage, and I’m loving every word. I just needed a reminder.