Returned With Notes
romanceEveryoneI'm off the porch before I can think. Me: 'Any good?' They jump. Hold up the book like evidence. 'Sorry — is this yours? The notes. Are they yours?' Up close: my age. Nervous. A pen tucked behind their ear like they came ready to reply. Me: 'The black pen is me.' They stare. Then: 'You didn't write back.'
I panic and go with a joke. Me: 'I charge for replies now. One coffee per margin.' Silence. One second. Two. Then they laugh — a real one, too loud for a quiet street. 'There's a place two blocks over. They let you sit for hours.' They hold up the book. 'We can grade my replies. I know you have opinions about my take on the ending.' I have SO many opinions about their take on the ending.
What happens next?
1 ways forwardThe place two blocks over really does let you sit for hours. We test it. They defend their take on the ending for twenty solid minutes. They're wrong. It's adorable. Me: 'You annotated a stranger's book. Who does that?' 'Someone who liked the stranger's brain first.' They slide the book across the table. 'Front page.' The front page has today's date and one new line in blue: 'First coffee. Hopefully not an ending.' It wasn't. We're on book forty-one.