Friday, January 09, 2009

First Love

This is the story of a book.

This book.

I ordered it, once.

From the Internet.

Several times, I went to pick up a package which I expected might be it.

The first time, the package I received was all my school-texts except First Love!

The second time, I received a bike-helmet with "Afta" Pre-Electric cream enclosed inside! This was very strange, but it was not my book.

The third time I got a package, I found a poster detailing the Hierarchy of Beards within! It was strange and wonderful. I put it up on my wall at once. But still - it was not my school-book! And I would need to read it by Tuesday.

The Hierarchy of Beards, with bonus Nikolases, above.

So, on the day of the third package, I went again to the mail-room to see if they had my book. This time - miracle of miracles - they did! I rejoiced. I leapt up and down and did a jig. I went to breakfast! Thus was my joy.

The book is on the center-right. Prevailing weather conditions suggest that it may be occluded by muffins.

I ate - actually, I ate a bagel, not pictured - and rode back the very steep hill to my dormitorium. Hooray, thought I! My book is here - and beards too!

Then I looked in my bicycle-basket, where I had stored both book and muffins.

The muffins were there - but the book was not.

The book had been in my possession. I'd put it in the basket just after leaving the restaurant in which I'd breakfasted. It must have fallen out somewhere en route, as small objects have a tendency to, from that basket. For some things, I would forget it, buy another - but not this. I had laboured too hard to possess it! "Not again!" I screamed to the world at large, rending my hair and garments in frustration. "NOT AGAIN!"*

So I retraced my path, imperiling myself by traveling on the wrong side of the road to better match my previous course. I bicycled, bicycled, down and along and up that dreadful hill which brought me such joy on the down-trip; and still there was no sign of the book. It had been several minutes since I passed the other way - perhaps, I thought, it was gone to me. Trucks rolled past, their heavy wheels bringing to mind dreadful images of books crushed and ripped apart.

Then I saw a figure - higher up that abominable hill! - pick up a small object from the side of the road and move it onto the sidewalk. Was that it?, I wondered. It seemed strange, from the angle I saw it - glittering, translucent, like a plastic bag of the right shape and size. I anticipated that it would be a red herring - but I needed to continue in any case, if I still wished to find the book. So I reached the spot where the man had put the object on the sidewalk, a minute or two after I had seen him do so, and I saw -

The book. The book.
I had found it. It was mine.

"Never again!" I cried defiantly, riding downhill again with the book clutched between handlebar and hand. "Never! Again!" I was filled with a wild triumph.

I should probably get around to reading it at some point.

*Any verbalizations mentioned in this narrative are probably uses of dramatic license. Would've been a bit much otherwise, you know. What what.

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