Put The Book Back On The Shelf

Porter had always been attracted to books. Maybe it was the romantic in her that enjoyed the idea of books. Maybe it was the poet in her who loved the word. Just say it to yourself, whisper it as you blow out a candle: Books. Maybe it was the beauty of hardbound covers and crisp pages drowning in the words reality would never grant her the mercy of hearing aloud. She could get lost in those words. So many words…

While the other girls from school spent their Sundays shopping at the mall, she could easily be found wasting hours in her local Barnes & Noble. Her eyes lit up when walking in, all those shelves just filled with adventure, knowledge, a new perspective on life. Maybe even a new life altogether. That’s what books really were to Porter Angleton. Spilled promises. Possibilities making waves over the pages. False hope.

She survived off of the daydreams that abounded in her mind. Beautiful girls traversing dark, winding staircases by night, their sinewy bodies in silk that glowed by the light of their candlesticks as the wax dripped down onto their fingers. She felt fear’s grip on her heart as she braved German forests. She could feel the wind over Greece as she stood on it’s cliff infested shore. She felt the heat of the desert sun in Egypt. She dreamed of being those stories. Being the pen and paper, existing only through ink. Preferably dark blue or black.

Those books called to her. They beckoned like strangers with promises like handfuls of sweets. We can help you, we can fix you. We’ll give you the answer you’ve been waiting for. Make this right. This trouble that’s eating away at your heart and soul. We’ll give you an escape, a better denial than you could ever design for yourself. You need us.

It began to be like a drug. And just like all drugees, Porter was beginning to build up a tolerance. Her patience for weeding out good stories (which had always been difficult, but had at one time been a secular part of the fun) waned under the strain of dry eyes decorated in dark circles. It was harder to look at the shelves and buy into the promises of stumbling upon romance, originality, humor.

The bookstore employees watched her, wondering how much longer she could last. How much longer she could take the strain of lying to herself. They new the truth. Books were not romance or humor. That’s not what bookstores sold. They sold the idea of romance, the idea of humor, of adventure and perfect, of acceptance and treasure maps. It was their specialty to build your hopes up just to break your heart in the form of cleverly folded forests. Most people could handle that because most people didn’t indulge themselves in more than one book every month or so, if that. They had lives of their own that they were content with.

Porter did not. That’s what she went looking for on those shelves. A life. Not the one she had, no God had made a mistake, she was searching for the life she knew she deserved. The life she wanted. Like a pirate out for a treasure he’s never seen, so was Parker sailing the Isles des Tomes. She herself couldn’t tell you what she was looking for but just like the pirate, she was so confidant that she would recognize it when she saw it. She was going to find a book that would change everything. She had to, she was thirsty for it. A book she could completely lose herself in. A book that would blot out reality with the ink spilled across the pages.

But after years of searching, that book was seeming more like a myth she’d read about somewhere…in a book.

She’s so lost in the words, in the deep thought, in the poetry. She can’t find her way out. She’s drowning. So she does the only thing she can, she prays for answers. For another book that will make the mess in her die down. Something easy, something simple. But what she gets is more words. Only these are coming from a voice inside her head: Don’t even try little girl. You look on that shelf and those titles look like promises. Like maybe they could fix you. You know you can’t keep doing this to yourself. Admit defeat, just walk away. Put the book back on the shelf, you won’t be fixed today.