Book Conversation

Becky and I stretched our memory into new territory last night.  At home, and both writing until past 11:30 p.m., we were sitting adjacent to each other with our laptops when Becky began telling me about a book she would like to order.  "What's the title?" I asked.

"It's entitled: The Ultimate Teacher, compiled by Todd Whitaker," she said.

"I have a copy of that book," I told her.

"You do?"
"Yes," I said.  "Don't you remember?  I wrote one of the essays in that book.  The essay was about you!"

"Did I read it?" she asked.  "Did you show it to me?"

"Several times, I thought."  I scurried into the library, removed a layer of books, dug around in the stacks for a moment, and returned with a pristine copy of The Ultimate Teacher.  "Here you are," I said.  "You are on page 98." 

"How did you write this?" she asked.

"Same way I write everything else . . . sitting here next to you, half asleep, no TV, no interruptions, no romance.  When you write an essay a day, a guy is bound to hit upon a few words that will be published."

"I'll have to read this."

"You already have," I said.  "That book has been on the shelf for three years."

Memories . . . light the corner of my mind.  Too bad we are losing them faster than we can create them.  In another year, we'll have no memories at all.  Just a bunch of books.