Right to the prompt.
Open a book. Find a sentence you like. Use it as the beginning of a whole new story.
A sentence from Our Bogeys, Our Shelves- A Fiddler’s Green Leaflet by Clint Marsh & Jeff Hoke.
Page 5
Book learning took a backseat to practical experience in college. I read a book a day for the entire year. 365 days. 365 books.
I would wake up extra early. There is a quiet about 4am that leaves so much space for falling into a book. I learned about wooden folk carving. The phenomenal lives of jellyfish. The ubiquity of corn.
One month was a biography a day. I was surprised by the explorer, Richard Burton. Entranced by Zora Neale Hurston. I was oddly fascinated while reading Shirley MacLaine’s accounts of her own life in the 1983, Out on a Limb.
I forgot that talking to actual people might be important. I became a well of information with no tap. And if a barista tried to make small talk they would get an earful about whomever or whatever I had been reading. I forgot all of my human training. But I had books. So many books.
And I was getting good marks. I was.
But half way through my year of a book a day I started to feel a void growing. I remembered friendship. A whisper in my ear that sometimes books are best shared.
So I went to the library to read with the after dinner crowd. And in the quiet of that hall I found my people. Books open, noses tucked deeply in.
One evening, after a couple month of existing in the same space, a human about my age approached me. They looked at the cover of the book I was reading. It was The Little Prince, by St. Exupery. A short book, but deep.
I was reading about the prince and the fox, quite serendipitously.
“I see you here, every evening, around 6.” They said.
“You do?” I responded.
“I shelve the books. You read quickly, and it’s been a right joy to see what you’ve been reading. I’ve started taking the books you’ve finished home to see if I can keep pace with you.” They seemed relieved to have shared the secret they’d been keeping.
I was both excited and surprised that this person had noticed me at all.
I couldn’t form a sentence. Even though my head was full of phrases.
“Would you read to me from the book you are reading? You can absolutely say no without consequence. Sometimes when words won’t come to me, I find that reading out loud helps.”
It was as if they had read my mind.
I nodded. I was more than happy to oblige.
I turned the book to show my new friend this picture on the page where I had been reading.
And then I read.
"Please--tame me!" he said.
"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."
"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."
"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.
"You must be very patient," replied the fox. "First you will sit down at a little distance from me--like that--in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . ."
The next day the little prince came back.”
I finished reading.
My throat was dry
“My name is Morgan. Will you read to me tomorrow?” The human standing at the table was putting themself out there. They seemed gentle and hopeful, and I was not afraid. I felt comfortable. As if no matter my answer they would be satisfied that they had at least taken a chance.
“I would like that very much.” I said.
And so I did. And for the rest of the year Morgan and I read together. And reading became a thing that wasn’t just for me. I looked forward to the evenings.
But all beautiful things must end.
But our ending was 75 years hence, both of us 95. Morgan lying in bed, the sunlight in their hair, a book open on my lap.
“Will you read me the first thing you ever read me?” They asked, their eyes bright but their voice quiet.
I went to the shelf. I opened the Little Prince.
I read.
“And he went back to meet the fox.
"Goodbye," he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.”
“What is essential is invisible to the eye.” Morgan repeated, and closed their eyes.
I put the book on their chest. They smiled. I took their hand in my hand.
“I’m ever so glad we made ties. Even though I’m bound to spend some days crying. More often than tears I will remember the books we’ve read. And every library, every page will remind me of the chance you took. I love you.” I had rehearsed this moment. I had known from books that endings are inevitable. Every good book ends. Every life does too.
Morgan opened their eyes. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. Thank you for letting me take a chance on you.”
And then they were gone. Back into the starry universe from whence they came.
And now every book I open I find a sentence to read aloud, and I send it to the stars, hoping they might be listening still.
I love this story. Thank you.