I haven’t written anything properly for a long time, so I’ll expect this isn’t going to be the best thing I’ve ever written by a long shot. But I’m going to pretend to be okay with that. Sometimes you just need to get things out so you’ll stop thinking about them. So here we go.
Moving out of the apartment I had shared with my now ex-boyfriend, living in my car for two weeks (and having the flu for one of those), and thinking about the impending doom that was sure to come after graduating in December… September wasn’t the greatest month. But I’ve learned that the easiest way to overcome these times of depression is to keep myself busy. So I planned to do just that. With most of my possessions in storage, I took a two year-old Barnes & Nobles $20 gift card out of my wallet and bought four discounted books written by best-selling authors. Enveloping myself in fictional worlds has long been a survival strategy for me. But sometimes, I’ll admit, it can be infuriating. I have this problem where I’ll pick up a book that is just plain bad. And no matter how much I hate it, there’s some part of me that refuses to put it down, to just lay it to rest.
I was reading one such book a few weeks back. It was a Saturday; I had ended the rehearsal for my original musical early and was feeling a twinge of loneliness when I decided the best thing for me to do was treat myself to a nice meal at a proper restaurant and perhaps do some people watching. So I drove to Fashion Island, a place I hadn’t been since the first few months I moved to Irvine. I was getting out of my car when I looked over at the terrible book in question and felt guilty. I was over halfway done with it; I could finish it in an afternoon if I wanted to. Impulsively, I shoved it in my bag and got out of the car.
I walked around a bit, intending to look at the menus at the restaurants I passed, but I got exhausted very quickly and realized the notion of eating by myself in an actual restaurant now felt too weird. So, I decided to check out the food court. I came across a Five Guys and decided it was good enough for me. I ordered my food and sat down with the book, determined to finish it before I got up so I’d never have to turn its pages again. I sat at that table for the next three hours. I took a couple breaks to look around, each time noticing that none of the people who I saw the last break remained. I kept reading though, powering through. I took a small rest to see how many pages were left in the book. Just two. I felt relieved. And that’s when I heard a voice in front of me: “Excuse me.”
I looked up and I saw a young man: blonde hair, glasses, and I knew he looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out from where. I thought maybe he was one of the people who I had been looking at earlier. I thought these ponderings took perhaps a fraction of a second to conceive, but apparently there was enough of a pause for him to ask “Don’t I know you?” I gave him another once over and concluded that I didn’t, which I then said out-loud to him. In response, he half-asked-half-demanded “Well isn’t your name… Sabrina?” He hesitated as if to show that he was not quite sure of my name, though it was obvious he was. I was taken aback and for a second I contemplated lying. I thought about telling him that Sabrina wasn’t my name- that I was someone else- just to avoid the confrontation. After short deliberation that felt like minutes had gone by, I rested on the statement “yes that’s my name” and then I proceeded to ask how he knew me. He told me that we had gone on a couple dates a few years back, I told him I was sorry that I didn’t recognize him. At this point, he told me his name and I realized yes I definitely knew who this guy was.
Three years ago, I went on two dates with this guy. In fact, the last time I had been to Fashion Island, it was with him. He was a great person. We have similar interests in graphic design and art. He seemed caring and was a good listener. But he wasn’t good for me. I don’t like to talk very much about myself and silence on a first date with someone I don’t know makes me feel uncomfortable. I have enough nervous energy as is without having to worry about the person across the table from me who is shaking because he can’t calm his own nerves. I knew it wasn’t his fault but it was difficult for me as an introvert. And because of this, I faded away from him.
But here he was again in my life. He asked what book I was reading and I told him. I also didn’t neglect to mention how I was two pages away from finishing, thinking that maybe he would see how awkward I felt and leave. Instead, he sat down. We had the obligatory conversation about how we’ve been and what we’ve been up to. I tried to keep conversation away from any hard subjects. I tried multiple times to leave, but felt myself get sucked back into the conversation. I should’ve just said that I needed to get back to my book or I needed to do something else, but instead I continued this conversation.
It felt like two hours had gone by since he first said something to me. And that’s because it had. I had spent two whole hours talking to a person who I didn’t feel comfortable with and I’m not really sure why. And then when I felt like nothing else could go any worse he asked me what my “status” was. Right there I should’ve lied- or maybe I shouldn’t have lied, but maybe I could’ve told something besides the whole truth- or maybe I could’ve just been more honest and said that I wasn’t interested in him. But instead I told him the real truth: I just gotten out of a relationship and that it has been a difficult couple of months for me. The sick part is that while I was saying something that was obviously difficult for me, I could see him trying very hard to not smile a bit. But social conventions dictated that I ask him what his status was- even though I already knew what the answer would be. I felt required to ask anyway. I got the answer I was expecting.
Glancing at my book and the two pages that I still had left to complete, I picked up my phone and let him know that I had a place that I had to be. This much was true. I was going to usher Far-Flung Follows at school. As I was getting up to leave, he asked me if I changed my number. I realized that since the time that we went on those two dates three years ago: I had. It wasn’t a result of not wanting to see him again; it was a result of not wanting to keep getting calls from the Shasta County Department of Child Services asking why I was late on my child support payments, since as far as I’m aware I’ve never had a child. I should have said no- or or maybe I did the right thing by telling him the truth. I let him know that I had changed my number. When he asked me for it, I didn’t refuse. I plugged it into his phone and while I was handing it back to him, I realized I could’ve just given him a fake number.
At this point, I was starting to question my sanity. Maybe I have some real issues with not wanting to lie. I knew that wasn’t it. I have lied before and I will lie again, but I couldn’t seem to figure out why I wasn’t lying then. Maybe I felt bad for him. But if I really felt bad for him, I would have told him the truth about not wanting to see him again.
Either way, I handed back his phone, accepted his hug goodbye, and started walking towards the directory so I could find out where I parked and how to get back there. That’s when I noticed he was still right next to me. As we approached the map of the outdoor mall, I asked where he parked. I was relieved to hear that he had parked in a lot that was in the exact opposite direction of mine. I was finally free. I said goodbye, he gave me another hug, and asked if we could hang out sometime. I’m still unsure why, but I told him that it was a possibility depending on my schedule. Then we went our separate ways.
Well, I thought we were going to, but then he started walking in my direction. For obvious reasons, I was confused so I asked where he was going. He told me that he was walking to my car and I told him that I was really in a rush that he didn’t need to. So he headed off in the other direction, but not before giving me yet another hug. Finally alone, I walked to my car and closed the door. I took my book out of my bag and read the last two pages. After finishing the unsatisfactory conclusion, I threw it in the backseat; content that I would never have to look at it again.
I shared this story in one of my classes as a way of describing the way we perform in real life. We discussed the most memorable moments and moved on. Still pondering on it, the professor came to the next class and declared he knew why I couldn’t just get up and leave during this awkward series of events. I asserted that it was simply because I’m afraid of being rude. He informed me that this was not what he was going to say. Taken aback, I asked what he was going to say. He replied, “You said it yourself, you can’t stop reading a bad book.”
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about my inability to stop reading terrible books. Rationally, I know that there are too many good books out there to waste my time on the bad ones. But there’s something about the possibility that it might all turn out okay in the end that gets me I think. I have to know for sure. Or alternatively.. The bad books are easier. You’re already in them, and perhaps not investing, but.. They can’t possibly disappoint you any more than they already have. The only way they can surprise you is by getting better. And if you keep reading the terrible book, you don’t have to start getting into another book that might just disappoint you again. I feel like I’m not really talking about books anymore.
There was a long time that I didn’t know or understand how people could just dive in and trust that the next book they read or the next relationship they jumped into would be okay. I mean they do it, obviously. But we don’t even recognize how much strength or courage that takes. To take that risk. Just a month ago, the thought of being with another person terrified me. But now I’m looking at things differently. I used to think that just because a book was written by an author who writes bestsellers, it had to be good. But I’m finally realizing that no book (or person) is one-size-fits-all. Just because all the people in your life think something (or someone) is perfect for you, it doesn’t mean they are. But of course, it’s a lesson easier said than learned.
So for now, I’ll just focus on learning how to put down the awful books. But I will keep reading, hoping for a better one to come along.
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