Again, But Better(107)
I explore thoroughly, slowly winding through the shelves, reading every title, running my fingers over spines. I pick up and caress books I’ve already read. I examine all the different editions of the classics. I haven’t picked up a book that wasn’t medically relevant in so long. When did I stop reading fun books? Two years ago? Before that? How did I let that happen?
My lip curls up the slightest bit when I finally stumble across the Harry Potter section. It’s been years since I’ve reread them. I miss them. I slide out the British edition of my favorite, Prisoner of Azkaban, and hold it to my heart.
I stroll around the store with it, hunting for the perfect reading spot. When I’ve scoped out the least visible nook between shelves, I slide onto the floor. As soon as my butt hits the ground, I’m gasping for air again.
I am stuck six years in the past.
I drop my head between my knees. This means I’m redoing the last few months of London in an internship where they don’t take me seriously, with no computer, and reliving the nightmare with my parents. I can’t do that. I can’t handle it. I don’t want to. I want out. I want to go home. I want to start over. I’ve lost my one connection to the rest of the world. This phone I have is a piece of crap. I can’t do any of my internet stuff without Sawyer. My body shakes.
I focus on the book in my hands. Breathe. My favorite book. I have my favorite book. An edition I don’t own of my favorite book. Breathe. I run my fingers over the British cover art. These are the stories that made me want to write stories. These are the stories that shaped my heart. I slowly pull open the cover.
My breath catches at the sight of a handwritten note. There’s a note in the book. I huff an airy laugh. I’ve heard of people doing this, leaving notes for strangers in Harry Potter books. I heave in more oxygen and dip closer to read the tiny, slanted handwriting.
Dearest Reader,
Even in the darkest of times, one must only remember to turn on the light.
Dreams live up in the highest of mountains; the pursuit is ominous, but without them, we’re just asleep.
When you need it, Hogwarts will always be here to welcome you home. x
New tears slip down my cheeks. I read it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. For fifteen minutes, I sit there and read it. Then I swallow hard, sniffle, close the book, and bring it to the register.
I have a fucking mountain to climb.
22. Going for the Knockout
When Professor Blackstairs dismisses us from Friday class, I walk down the block and set up camp at Café Nero. Horcrux Nine sits in front of me, practically empty now. I open to a blank page, sip my latte, and draft a Paris blog post. The train Pilot and I booked to Edinburgh leaves without me on it.
When I’ve got the writing all sorted the way I want, I walk back to the class building. Inside, they have a couple of old PCs in a tiny crammed room they call a library, down in the basement. The post goes live at three: “The Noob’s Guide to Paris.” I text Babe and Sahra, and we make plans to test out a dance club tonight and explore some new areas of England.
On Saturday, we do a trip to Bath, and on Sunday, we go to Stonehenge. I bring Horcrux Nine, jotting down thoughts and interesting facts I want to remember.
Sunday night, I sit on my bunk, scribbling away, until I have another new post drafted, “You Don’t Need a Plane for a Day Trip: Making the Most of Your Weekends Abroad!” When it’s ready, Babe lets me borrow her laptop to type it up and publish it. God bless her.
January 31, 2011 (take two)
Mom and Dad,
I’m not giving in this time. You’ll be upset to hear Sawyer died prematurely. He was the best gift you’ve ever given me and I’m devastated, but I’m going to make do. I guess I’ll be seeing you for our big falling out in about a month. Fingers crossed it’ll be different this time.
XO,
2017 Shane
* * *
Tuesday morning, I stride into Packed! For Travel! with determination etched into every fiber of my being.
I eagerly step up to the front desk. “Morning, Tracey! I was wondering if you could give me a list of everyone’s work emails, so I have them on file for any assistance I can offer?”
She studies me warily for a moment. “Er … okay. I’ll email it to you,” she answers slowly. I thank her, set my things down, and head to the kitchen tea station.
The first cup I fix is for Wendy. I carefully walk it to her office and knock on the doorframe. She’s wearing a pretty, pink, off-the-shoulder sweater with a white skirt. “Yes, come in!” she greets.
I step forward. “Hi, Wendy! Good morning! I made you a cup of tea.” I slowly set the cup and saucer down on her desk.
“Oh my goodness, thank you.” She smiles.
“I know I did this on Thursday, but I wanted to reintroduce myself again. I think I started off on the wrong foot last week … I’m Shane. I’m so excited to be here and learn, and if there’s anything you can use my assistance with, please ask me. If there are ever any opportunities to shadow you or watch you in action, I’d love to do so. I know I already mentioned this in our interview a couple weeks ago, but I have a blog myself and I’ve turned it into a travel blog. I just love what you guys do here. I’ll send over an email with this info, so it resonates, and you have my email if you need it.”