First Love

I have a clear memory of the first time that I opened a book with the ability to actually read it. I was four, I was sitting in the small space between our sofa and the wall, our carpet was blue, and I was holding a book about an angry squirrel that my mother had purchased along with a set from a travelling salesman. I had just taught myself to read using the tapes that came with the books. I clearly remember my mother marking the place each tape started in red, and I would follow along until I could recite it, and then read other words by sight.

My parents fought constantly. I remember the night my dad left for good. There was a Christmas tree, it was dark, and I was in that small space holding my books in my lap. I feel asleep there.

I had a tempestuous childhood. I clung to books like lifelines. The first book that I remember loving was Charlotte's Web. No matter how hard things got, Fern was my friend. After school I would sit in a made up hayloft with Fern talking to Wilber and laughing while riding the Ferris Wheel with Avery. When Wilber became upset that Charlotte was a carnivore I talked him through it. "That's just the way life is, Wilber. Lots and lots of meat eaters out there." Other children thought that Fern was weird. Children thought that I was weird too. Fern talked to animals and I didn't talk at all. And as Wilber learned to be radiant, a little part of me learned to be radiant too.

Books taught me to shimmer.