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Book Date

It was just the two of us.

Her and me.

Which wasn’t all that exciting until I cranked the van into a small parking slot at the library at four o’clock and we realized we had an hour ’til they kicked us out at five.

Oh, yeah.

A whole hour. To do stuff like read. For fun.

We could hardly stand it.

We parted wordlessly at the welcome mat; every minute was precious. Then while my daughter dizzied herself in familiar shelves, I feathered through the first few pages of books whose titles reeled me in. When me met again, it was in sacred silence. And like mimes, we lowered our loot to a lone table and our bottoms to its corresponding chairs.

And there we sat. Still stuffed into winter coats and wound in scarves. Unaware of the cacophony around us. Unaware of anything but our fingertips on the corners of each page.

At ten to five, I uttered the obvious. “We should probably go now.” And with a grin that said, “this has been the best fifty minutes of my Christmas vacation,” my daughter scooched her books into our wimpy bag and held my hand to the door.

Had there been anything to say, we’d have said it.

Instead, the written word had been enough.


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