Help

I'm last on the list. Number 262 out of 262 at the library holding for my December book club book, The Help. I'll never make it in time. I usually don't have any trouble getting my way, sitting at my computer with my new selection of books ready to get typed in, then a day or two later I'll get an email telling me to head over to the drive-thru down the street and pick up. It's great. See, I don't buy books anymore. It started way back when I realized that it would make a lot of sense to put all of my book budget toward my student loans and these days it's for other reasons - I don't have room, I rarely read a book twice (there are too many other ones out there) and while I've heard that it grosses some people out to read a book so many others have touched, taken to bed, taken to the bathroom, carried around in purses, I like it. It's used, it's shared. Germs can't live that long anyways. Right? So I mentioned my dilemma to a friend who just so happened to have a brand new copy, fresh from the Amazon box that there's no way she could read this week anyway. So I borrowed it. It was pristine. I was the first one ever to open it. It made me nervous. I tried to be careful (the last book I borrowed got left on a plane, sorry Laurel). But the very first night I noticed a little tear in the book cover on the back. Did I do that? I took the thing off and put a small piece of tape on the inside, then carefully put the jacket away in a cupboard, safe from any more harm while I read some more. I read fast, wanting to get it back to my friend ASAP, plus it was just a really good, hard-to-put-down book. It's about a town in Mississippi, race, prejudice, friendship, history, great language and accents. I kept going, speed-reading, but thinking about the fact that I don't own this book, putting it down gently, consciously taking care of it, focusing. Then came the soy sauce. I must have let my guard down hurrying through the last half, because on page 363, it happened. A splash of soy. I tried to clean it up, but it just made it worse. I quit reading and left it open so it could dry. The next day I finished the book, dropped it off at Nancy's and picked up the other book I had been reading, Lit.

Totally different book. A memoir - growing up in the dusty slums of Texas with alcoholics, desperate to be a writer, a poet. Marrying into a wealthy, cold family and moving to Boston, where the alcoholism catches up to her. Incredible, jaw-dropping writing. Where does she find those words? She's just now coming out of her darkest part and I can't wait to finish it. It's a new book, so I can't renew it. Since it sat alone while I raced through The Help, I'm behind. The thing is due today. God, the pressure.