on the last page

February 21, 2017

Kansas City, Missouri

A couch is divided into sections, suggesting that a single person fills the allotted space.  We break the unspoken rules and cross the cushion lines.  Another book, a different title, and we leave the world around us falling deeper into each word on the page.  Where will go today? What adventures will we face?  How will our character overcome great and worthy struggles?  We go together with each word. I read and you paint pictures in your mind. 

I wonder, will you carry just one scene, just one line, just one theme of every story we read?  Will you tuck it into the corners of a memory box and as you live your own story, will moments sneak out before your eyes?  When you're scared and uncertain, will you remember the courage of a small mouse?  When you dreams are big will you recall how Billy saved two years for his beloved dogs?

Will you carry stories the way I carry the tales of my youth? 

We've reached the end of the book, I have already impressed it into my own memory box, I felt the final words coming and my voice begins to tremble.  Words pierce my greatest line of defense.  As I see the beautiful ends weaving together in just the right way. I can no longer speak.  I slide the book in your direction, and whisper, "read it."  You do not hesitate, in a slow, cautious way of a reader who does not yet understand his own strength.  The last words fall from the air and we sit for a moment with the goodness.

Once, oh marvelous once, a rabbit found his way home. 
(The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, Kate DiCamillo)

I scribbled the look in your eyes away for safe keeping. I tucked the sweet stillness of that lingering moment into a dark corner of a treasure box. I felt every emotion in my own heart, and found myself in that space.  I imagine you found yourself somewhere in it too.