The End of Things

Well, just finished the new D. Miller book and once again he has another hit that plucks the heart strings. I often find myself lamenting the end of a book. As a child, I was made fun of a lot and so I retreated to the company of books (thank God I didn't have motion sickness otherwise I would have had to sit very still on the bus, not reading). Books became my friends, they never laughed at me or ridiculed my growing girth and lack of athletic skill. So now, just a few hundred pages into a lovely friendship it ends, with a sweet note of resolution.

I could be melodramatic and say the end of a book is like the death of a friend, but I've experienced that too recently to know it isn't true. Rather, the end of books remind me of a friend I made in Blacksburg. Seth, Crystal, and I knew each other for less that 100 hours. We ate a couple of meals together, I helped them change all four tires on their car and played a little mandolin with them. They took me on a drive just to see the mountains in all their majesty. Later, we said goodbye with tears rimming our eyes and Seth remarked how it felt like we had known each other our whole lives.

Books tend to do that to me, make me want to be a better person. Even if it's about a farmer's family who loves him for being clever and imperfect. It makes me want to take risks I've never thought to do, and I grow sad wondering if I really do have the confidence, the courage to do all those things I want to do. I could start by not watching television, I guess. It gives you a story at it's pace, not allowing you to stop and reflect on the beauty of a sentence.

Eh, it's late and I'm getting sentimental. Gonna hang it up for tonight. I'm looking forward to traveling next week, maybe I'll write about that tomorrow.