Month: February 2018

Too Many Books

Emily loved to read. She read biographies and fantasy, cookbooks and science fiction, children’s books and the backs of cereal boxes. She read everywhere, except in the car when she started feeling carsick.   And sometimes even then.

Everyone that knew Emily knew that she loved to read. Most of them thought reading was a good thing.   Except maybe Grandma, who was always telling her, “Get your nose out of that book and go play outside.” But even Grandma, just like everyone else, was always giving Emily new books to read.

“I found this and thought of you,” Dad said, and gave Emily a dusty trilogy with yellowed pages. “It was mine when I was your age.”

“I picked these up at the store,” Mom said, and handed her a series of nine books. “They were half off, and the pictures on the covers looked nice.”

“The library at school was getting rid of damaged books, so I picked some up for you,” her brother said, handing her three plastic bags full of paperback books with torn covers and dog-eared pages. “Enjoy.”

People would give her lists of books to read, too. “Have you ever read this author,” the teacher said, rattling off a confusing, long name. “Let me write it down. You’d love her books, they remind me of you.”

“Here’s a list of the Newberry Award winners,” the librarian said. “You really shouldn’t miss any of those. And I think I have a list of children’s classics here somewhere.”

“Oh, do you like to read?” the woman in line at the grocery store said. “Let me tell you all about my son’s favorite books to read. They’re so funny.”

Of course, Emily had her own stacks and lists of books that she’d assembled for herself to read, too. And of course, there were lots and lots and lots of them. All total, there were far too many for Emily to ever read through, even though Emily could read very fast. And she just kept getting more books to read.

It was overwhelming. She’d look at her stacks of books and pick one up and feel guilty that she wasn’t reading this one over here or that one over there. And then she’d go and read the back of the cereal box again.

It didn’t help that people were asking things like, “Did you read that book I gave you? What did you think?” and “Wasn’t it the funniest at the end when he turned into a donkey? You did read it right?” and “I hope you liked the book. It meant so much to me when I was younger. I think it saved my life.”

Emily was maybe starting to not like reading as much.   She tried to skim through some of the books, but it wasn’t the same. It felt like the words were being thrown at her and she was having a hard time picturing the story in her head. She missed just reading whatever was nearby and having all sorts of new and unexpected adventures without any pressure.

So, Emily pulled the books off her bookshelf and started going through all her stacks of books. She sorted them into piles and sorted the piles into smaller piles. Some of the piles she put in bags and left them outside her door. Some of the piles were stacked against the back wall of her closet.

The rest fit just right onto her bookshelf. Emily picked one at random and flopped onto her beanbag chair. She opened the book to the first page and started reading. It was about rabbits, how interesting. She’d missed this.

“Emily,” her mom said later, “what happened to all your books?”

“I had to organize them,” Emily said. “I just had too many.”

“I thought you could never have too many books,” Mom said.   “It would be like having too much chocolate.”

“I’m not sure about chocolate,” Emily said, “but you can have too many books.”

Charlie’s Room: The Golden Touch

Isaac closed the book of fairy tales with a shudder. “That was an awful story,” he said.

Charlie laughed. “It wasn’t that bad. It all turned out fine in the end, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t change how scary it was before that,” Isaac said. “You’re scared of the dark even though you know you’ll be fine in the morning.”

“That’s different,” Charlie said. “I’m not really sure until it happens.”

“How is that different?” Isaac asked.

“I’m not scared of yesterday’s dark,” Charlie said.   “Just today’s.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Isaac said.

“So, the story wasn’t that bad, right?” Charlie said.

“No, it was awful. It gave my brain more terrible ideas for what could happen. I’ll probably have nightmares,” Isaac said.

“It couldn’t happen in real life,” Charlie said.   “Weird stuff only happens in fairy tales.”

“Weird stuff happens all the time,” Isaac said.

“Maybe, but not that weird,” Charlie said. He yawned. “Is my nightlight plugged in?”

Isaac tucked Charlie into bed, listened to his prayers, and turned out the light. The nightlight glowed brightly as he closed the door, leaving it open just a crack.   As he got ready for bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about the story.

“What’s wrong?” Marianne asked when she came in later.   “You look like you’re a million miles away.”

“I read Charlie that story about King Midas, and I can’t stop thinking about it,” Isaac said. “It was horrifying.”

“It turned out all right in the end though,” Marianne said. “And it taught him a lesson he needed to learn. So I guess it was a good thing really.”

“Surely there was an easier way to teach him a lesson?” Isaac asked. “That was just awful.”

“I don’t think we get to pick how we learn lessons,” Marianne said. “Besides, this wasn’t even real. Stop worrying about it.”

“You’re right, I’m being silly,” Isaac said.   And he tried to smile and act normal and they talked about their day and everything was fine. But, in the back of the mind, he couldn’t stop thinking about the story.

That night, he had an awful nightmare. He was in the garden, and everything was green.   But when he looked closer, it was all made of folded up dollars. Even the flowers were origami roses and lilies and irises. The story had come to life.

“But I didn’t even touch anything,” he said.   “I just thought about them.” And suddenly, in that way that things seem so obvious in dreams, he knew that it was his thoughts turning things into money.   He tried not to think about anything at all.

“I’m not thinking…I’m not thinking…I’m not…” but as hard as he tried, it was impossible not to worry about Marianne and Charlie.   And the moment he thought of them, his heart sank and his stomach felt like lead. He knew that it was too late.

He raced into the house anyway, ignoring how everything looked like it had been pasted over in sheets of dollar bills. Somehow he knew they were in Charlie’s room. He ran down the green hallway and threw open the green door.

Green curtains rippled in the breeze. Charlie’s window was open. Charlie and Marianne were green statures in the center of the room. Before his horrified eyes, the gust of air from the opening door hit them and broke the Charlie and Marianne statues into a rustling cloud of dollar bills that fluttered to the floor.

Isaac jolted awake. “No!” he said, and blinked. It wasn’t real. Of course it wasn’t real.

Beside him, Marianne murmured. “It was just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

Even if the dream wasn’t real, the feelings of horror and terror were real.   He couldn’t go right back to sleep when his heart was still racing and he felt like throwing up. “I just need a drink of water,” he said.

“Dreams are just our brains playing with possibilities,” Isaac muttered to himself as he sipped from a glass of water in the kitchen. He looked out at the garden in the moonlight, still waiting to be planted.

But, just in case they were a way to teach lessons, he hoped he’d learned his. He’d never want to see that in real life. He shivered. Fairy tales are scary.

Isaac’s Adventures Underground: Chapter Fourteen

Isaac pulled the feathers out of his pocket and used them to grow a little bigger. He wanted to be able to travel faster while still being small enough to see and recognize the spider.   He hurried down the path, and soon realized that the light was growing dimmer.

The trees were taller here, and grew closer together. Their branches were tangled with each other, weaving a roof of branches, leaves, and vines that shut out most of the light. Isaac stumbled over rocks and roots, trying to keep to the path.

Just as he was ready to turn around, he saw a faint golden-green glow on the path ahead.   He knelt down and pulled the feathers out of his pocket while looking to see where the light came from. He was hoping to find fireflies or something else that could maybe give him directions after he shrunk to the appropriate size.

Instead, he found a feathery, glowing plant that gave just enough light to see the path ahead to the next clumps of glowing golden-green spots.   That was convenient. Isaac stood up and put the feathers away and followed the path of light forward.

There were noises out in the darkness off the path. Rustling sounds and snapping sounds and sounds that might be the wind or might be someone breathing. It was a little scary. And yet, with everything dark except for the glowing moss, he could almost believe he was somewhere else.

Maybe he was really at home in bed, dreaming one of those odd dreams that he could only half remember after he woke up. Isaac pinched his arm. It hurt.   That meant that he wasn’t dreaming, right? He closed his eyes and opened them. It was still dark, and he wasn’t in his bed.

Perhaps he was still dreaming and it was just a very realistic dream.   “Wake up,” he said out loud.   Something nearby made a crackling sound, and then there was the soft thud, thud of something small running away.

Maybe he wasn’t dreaming. What did that mean? Apparently, it meant that there were really caves with fancy hotel lobbies inside and potted plants that were portals into other dimensions. Or maybe there was just the one. The world was much stranger than Isaac had ever realized.

His eyes prickled with hot tears. Why hadn’t he listened when they told him not to go into the woods? He could be safe at home and his normal size right now. It was just all so strange and scary. What if something was sneaking up right now, ready to gobble him up in one bite. His family would never know what happened to him.

Isaac was just imagining his parents building a little memorial to him in the backyard, when he heard voices ahead on the path. Was someone singing? He quickly dried his eyes with the heels of his hands and tried to quietly hurry forward, which wasn’t easy to do at all.

In a small clearing ringed with glowing moss and tiny white mushrooms, there was a large fallen tree. It was as dark here as anywhere else, so any gap left by the tree when it fell had long ago been filled in.

At one end of the log, a branch stuck out at an angle. On top of the branch, an owl was perched, singing “Row, row, row your boat…”

Below the branch, a bat was perched, hanging upside-down and humming along. The owl stopped singing at the end of the first line and stomped his foot. “Hey!”

“What?” the bat asked.

“You’re supposed to come in there,” the owl said.

“I forgot,” the bat said. “Try again?”

“This time, you go first,” the owl said.

“Row, row, row your boat…” the bat sang, and paused. “Weren’t you supposed to come in there?”

“I was going to,” the owl said. “Start again and don’t pause.”

“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…” the bat paused.

“I wasn’t ready yet,” the owl said. “You’re obviously doing it wrong. I’ll start this time.”

Isaac checked to make sure he was big enough to not look like dinner and stepped into the clearing. “Hello,” he said.

“This choir is by invitation only,” the owl said.

“And you’re not invited,” the bat said. “So, go away.”

“I just have a few questions to ask, and then I’ll go away,” Isaac said.

“Do you think it would make him go away more quickly if we answered his questions?” the owl asked.

“He’d leave even faster if you tried to peck his eyes out,” the bat said.

“That’s rather barbaric,” the owl said.

“Then you can answer questions,” the bat said. “But I’m not getting involved. This is a choir, not an information booth.”

The owl snapped his beak and sighed. Then he stared at Isaac with his large golden eyes. “Well?” he asked. “Didn’t you have questions?”