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It was later in the evening, we had had our dinner (mashed potatoes and butter sandwiches being my staple) and I was looking at the books in the little bookshelf in the half-room that once belonged to my uncle. There was the one my grandma read to me every night before I went to bed: There's a Nightmare in My Closet, but there were other books, books whose titles I didn't know because the lettering was strange.
So, I skimmed them lightly with my forefinger, gently looking them over as if, by touching them, they would explode and die. As always, I was going to pick out my 'bedtime story' (which, on any other day would've been There's a Nightmare in My Closet, but I had spent the entire day watching my family read, or hearing them talk about reading) I wanted to try reading by myself. As any other little child I knew a few words: my name, the letters in the alphabet ((which is a story for another day)), lion, king, blues, clues, mermaid, seven, dwarfs, and any word that was in There's a Nightmare in My Closet.
After looking over the covers for what must have been 10 minutes, I picked a thick book, it was an old book, with brown leather binding. Instead of running to Grandma or Grandpa to have it read to me, I sat down in my other uncle's former room at the foot of the bed and started decoding the strange symbols I was assured were words.
I must have spent hours there, but I came into my grandparents family room, and very loudly exclaimed (over the rumble of the CNN news) that I could read. As though I were a god, I pulled the book out (standing in front of the TV to attract attention as I always did when I wanted everything to be about me) and started reading. The story was something about two siblings (brother and sister) who went to the zoo and saw a rhinoceros, a hippopotamus, and an elephant (to this day I still can't spell rhinoceros or hippopotamus without spell check).
Of course, being so little, no one believe I was actually reading, just making up a story. Indignantly, I sat on Grandpa's lap while he read over my shoulder as I read (for the second time) the story of the two children.
After receiving my round of applause, I sat down (still in front of the TV) and started reading more stories in the thickset book.
Now, as amazing as that sounds, try this on for size, by the time I graduated second grade, I had an eleventh grade reading level. I kid you not. I was just simply that wonderful.
Memories are pressed between the pages of my mind,
Shigure's Carma
Shigure's Carma
