I first checked out A Moment when I was nineteen. My college English teacher, convinced that college freshmen didn’t read enough and didn’t have enough to do already, gave us each a list of blank spaces and told us to fill it with titles of books we had read in the past two weeks and would read in the next two. Four weeks to fill twenty spaces and they were already half-gone by the time we got the assignment.
I hadn’t read voluntarily in years. The spaces for the past two weeks were woefully empty. I wouldn’t normally have cared, but I wanted an A and was already drifting towards a middling B. So I went to the library.
My method was pretty much to just walk down the aisle and pull out a couple of books randomly off the shelves. I could have cheated and just written down titles, but I was already only planning to skim and my conscience wouldn’t relent all the way. I checked the books out, threw them into my bag and went home.
Curled up on my bed, I stared at the stack of books I had accumulated and sighed. Then I turned on the TV and hoped the books would somehow disappear. They didn’t and, after several hours of reruns, I broke down and picked up the top book. It was a small ragged paperback with a yellow cover. Thin black letters read A Moment and there was a little picture of a clock face. I thumbed through the pages with another sigh, wondering what I had gotten myself into. Suddenly, something fluttered a little between two pages. I paused and turned back.
It was two pieces of paper, about the size of shopping receipts, folded together and covered with scrawled handwriting. I opened them curiously, scanning the words. The first sheet read:
Hello, Gentle Reader,
I actually loved this book despite the first three chapters. They certainly dragged, but give it a sporting chance. I especially enjoyed Matthew’s speech towards the end. I certainly did not see the twist coming. But I shan’t give it away. Let’s just say not to…
The second sheet continued:
…take things for granted. That’s true of most things in life, but some tend to take the saying itself for granted. In my experience, I’ve found that taking anything for granted usually comes around again in the way least possible to take for granted.
Ever yours,
The Bookworm
Down at the bottom of the sheet, in tiny script, was a post scriptum.
P.S. I would highly recommend the sequel if you are interested. Look for Time Waits. Not quite the same intensity, but a very satisfying read.
I was intrigued despite myself. I started reading.
Seven hours and a small piles of tissues later, I looked at the clock and realized it was two o’clock in the morning. I pushed the rest of the books off my bed, laid A Moment carefully on top of the heap, and fell asleep.
The next morning. I woke up late, got to class late, and didn’t even bother trying to go to work. Instead, I went straight for the library and scoured the shelves until I found a small blue paperback. Time Waits was written in black letters with a cracked hourglass underneath. I didn’t even wait to get home before I started reading. I had enough presence of mind to look up with the librarian spoke to me, but she had to repeat herself, informing me the library was closing for the night, before I fully understood. The book seemed to burn my fingers all the way home until I opened it again.
In the back of the book was a small sticky note, but I refused to read it until I had finished the book itself. The first note had been right: the sequel wasn’t quite as good as its predecessor, but I still had to pause a few times to wipe my eyes. My sleeve was damp with tears.
When I pulled out the sticky note, the handwriting looked the same as the first note I had found.
Hello, Gentle Reader,
I write this under the assumption you have read the first book (if not, I recommend you look up A Moment). This book wrapped up so many questions for me. The middle dragged a little, but wasn’t the heroine divine? And the one character from the gas station was easily my favorite character from the two books.
I smiled then. That had been my favorite character too. The writing had become very tiny and there was a little arrow drawn in the corner, indicating the note should be turned over.
Recommend: Blue World
Yours ever,
The Bookworm
The first pile of books I had checked out were never read. I took them all back and instead looked for Blue World. Then A Trip in the Clouds. Then Carrie Williams. When I finally turned in my list, I had added extra spaces. The librarians greeted me by name as I walked in and didn’t even ask for my card to check me out. I collected every note from the Bookworm in a little notebook and followed the recommendations faithfully.
It continued for weeks, which then stretched into months. Two months in, a thought occurred to me. As I took out the Bookworm’s note and savored its insights, I grabbed an index card from my backpack and wrote a short note of my own.
Gentle Reader…
I had to stop then. It felt awkward. I threw that card away and started again.
Fellow Reader,
Read this note after the book, because there is no way I can write about it without spoiling the ending… Have you read it? Good. You may continue.
I had to pause then and consider what else I had almost filled an entire side of the index card. I hesitated, then drew a little arrow and flipped the card over to continue.
I still don’t understand why Dan made the decision he did. Maura’s love is worth more than Ellie’s? How does he decide that? I can’t say as I felt sorry for him by the end.
I hesitated again, not sure how to sign off. And I had a problem. What to recommend? That is what I had loved the most about the Bookworm’s notes. And yet, I didn’t want to steal his? Her? Recommendations. But I didn’t know what to recommend. So I left the card and the book on my desk and went to the library.
I reverted to my original method of shelf combing. I pulled three books from the shelf and checked them out, then went home and read. Two were all right, but the third, Shoe of the Clown, actually gave me a cramp from laughing. I returned to the index card and finished my note.
I recommend Shoe of the Clown for further reading. Hysterically funny. It has a lobster.
Sincerely,
Reading Fool
I stuffed it in my book and took it back to the library. I checked out the Bookworm’s recommendation and pulled down a few more from the shelves to search for my own next recommendation.
I never replaced a note in the Bookworm’s books again, but instead continued a string of my own books. I would read the Bookworm’s book and continue on to the next while I myself would find a book, leave a note, and continue on.
Then came the day when one of the Bookwrom’s recommendations didn’t have a note. I panicked, flipping through the entire book, searching through the dust jacket. It wasn’t in the book, so I climbed off the bed and searched the floor. Then my bag. Then my car. I couldn’t find it.
I was surprised at how much this upset me. I sat on my bed, staring at the cover of this last book. All Good Things, it read.
Must come to an end, my mind finished. I pulled it to my chest and wiped my eyes violently. This was stupid.
The next day, I went to the library. I stood in front of the shelves, not quite sure what to do. I swiped a hand under my nose and took a deep breath. I walked down an aisle and pulled a few books from the shelf.
I continued leaving a string of notes behind me for another month. Each one was longer and longer until finally I looked at one and realized that I was venting. I was angry. I was bitter. I felt betrayed.
I had to laugh at myself then. All this over a little note. I didn’t even know the Bookworm. It wasn’t as if leaving notes were a paid position. It wasn’t as if he? she? were under any obligation to me.
And yet I still felt the loss. All of my own recommendations felt as if they were for others, as if I were reading for someone else. It was Bookworm’s recommendations that had been for me, purely for my own amusement. I missed that feeling.
As soon as I realized that, my notes changed again. They began to get shorter and shorter until it was simply:
Fellow Reader,
Recommendation: (book title)
Reading Fool
Sometimes I even left off salutations. I began to care less and less. Twice I put notes into books and wrote their names down without even reading them.
Then the day came when I stopped. Summer break had begun and I turned twenty. I accidentally took a stack of books back without notes and I didn’t care enough to fix my mistake. I let it go. I checked out books I didn’t want to read and didn’t read them.
School started again and nothing much changed. Then, in English, A Moment was assigned. I didn’t buy it when it came up on the list. I didn’t even check it out from the library. But when my first quiz on it came back as a 68, I decided I didn’t remember as much as I thought I had. I went to the library.
It was the same slightly battered, slightly dog-eared copy that I had checked out the first time. I sighed and began to read. Then, at page 38, I stopped.
There was a single sheet of paper, just a little smaller than the book itself, tucked into the pages. It looked like it had come from hotel stationary and was covered in a familiar scrawling handwriting. I pulled it out and read it slowly, almost timidly. The first few words made me catch my breath.
To Reading Fool
I can only hope that this is a book that you have both read and enjoyed and that you would return to it eventually.
I must confess, when I found your first recommendation, I was taken aback. It is strange to be confronted with one’s own brain child. It was perhaps what I had always been hoping for, but to have it realized was unexpected. And yet pleasant. I did enjoy Game’s Truth very much and I thank you for steering me to it.
Game’s Truth was a book I had recommended very early on. Trying to figure out exactly when made me realize I hadn’t been leaving notes for longer than I had thought. The note continued, the writing small and cramped.
I can only assume that you continued following my recommendations. Let me assure you that I have followed yours faithfully. I have found many new favorites with your help.
However, I have noticed an absence lately. Have I lost the trail? Has the supply dried up? Am I back to blind searching? If so, I am sorry. I had so enjoyed the novelty to hearing suggestions from another.
If not, however, I can only pray that you will find this. Know that I am eagerly await another suggestion. I lost the trail at White Winds of Gabriel and will look there for further signs.
If this is not Reading Fool, my sincerest apologies. I am sorry you have persevered through so much writing that is not involving you. I ask that you leave this note so that it might fall into the correct hands. In gratitude, I offer a recommendation: If you have not already read it, search for the sequel to the volume in your hands, called Time Waits. If you have already read this excellent book, I highly recommend the aforementioned White Winds of Gabriel.
The writing began to run into itself and the signature was crammed into the smallest possible spot at the bottom.
Ever faithfully yours,
The Bookworm
I reread the note dozens of times before I picked the book back up. I read it a dozen times more before I wrote another note of my own. I felt self-conscious and awkward while writing it, but I didn’t let myself change a word. I didn’t check out the book to put it in, but just slipped it on the shelf and hoped it would go to where it was supposed to go.
Dear Bookworm,
If you are not the person who is waiting for this note, I’d like to ask you to leave it in this book as you found it. It is very important.
If you are the person to whom this is addressed: I might as similar questions of you. I lost your trail at All Good Things. A gentle hint that this must “come to an end”? Or have I simply lost track of you?
As for recommendations, I have realized anew what wonderful books A Moment and Time Waits are. I recommend a reread, especially of the sequel.
Sincerely,
Reading Fool
It took two index cards and I tucked them securely between the pages of White Winds of Gabriel. Then I walked through the aisle, picking out the first books that caught my eye. I checked them out, took them home, and read.
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A/N: My favorite part of this story was coming up with the book titles. One of these days, I am going to write Shoe of the Clown and White Winds of Gabriel, just because I already have amazing titles. I generally suck at titles.
Towards the end, I felt tears spring into the corners of my eyes. 
But it was great, and I see no faults important enough to mention. Dang, that was beautiful! I especially like how the Bookworm wrote back. 
