A balding man at a paper filled
table near the door glanced up over his reading glasses.. “Can I help you find something?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I won’t know what I’m looking for until I
find it.” I smiled and stepped into the
maze of bookcases filling the room.
Although narrow, the room seemed to continue a long way into the back.
He looked down at the book he was
reading. “Just let me know if you need
anything.”
The cases and shelves had yellowing
labels. I kept going further into the
land of books until I found a case of “traveling narratives.” My favorite bedtime reading. I couldn’t afford to travel, but I could at
least do so in my imagination.
My Friday evening reward for getting
through another frustrating work week was book store browsing. I read and wrote technical journals all week.
I needed adventure in my week end
reading.
I stood, slightly hunched over to
read the titles on the lower shelves. The books were tightly packed and one
must have been squeezed in a little too much.
It popped out and fell at my feet.
I picked it up, “The Magic of Travel.”
Hmm, I thought, maybe it knows something I don’t. It was only $1, probably because it was in
bad shape and published according to the inside page in 1948. After WWII when Europe was recovering and
American women were being urged to stay home to give returning GIs a job. It was written by Henry Rutherford, a former
soldier. He looked grumpy in his picture
on the torn back cover. I wondered if
the title was meant sarcastically given he had been sent on his travels to
fight a war.
None of the other books I perused
that afternoon struck my fancy. I went
home with just the one book. The man at
the door said, “It looks like you picked a good one.” He probably said that to everyone to
encourage them to return.
“I think this book wanted a good home,
it landed at my feet.” But he just took my $1 and went back to his
reading.
The book and I snuggled in for a good
read that night. The first chapter was
about the country I had always dreamed of visiting, Italy. It had everything--beautiful scenery, ancient
history, friendly people, terrific food, famous art, and flirty, good looking
men. Of course the book was from the 40s
so I wasn’t expecting too much relevancy today.
The first words I read opened my eyes and my heart. The author was a romantic after all he had
been through.
“If you dream tonight of Italy, you will
start your journey tomorrow.” I stopped
reading to consider those words. Could
it possibly be true? Was the book really
magic? I allowed myself to think about
what a trip to Italy would be like. I
fell asleep with these thoughts on my mind and so of course did dream of Italy.
I usually slept in on Saturday mornings,
but my cell’s ring tones woke me up
“Matty,
are you up?” My best friend’s voice hit
my ear loudly.
“Uh, yeah.” I was now.
“This is Hannah. I’ve got great
news.” As if I didn’t know her voice. “I’ve
entered us both in a terrific travel contest.”
“Yeaaah.” She was always telling me about terrific
contests.
“No this is for a Fantastic around the
World Trip.”
“And what do we, or more likely I, have
to do to win it?” I asked warily. I would not participate in any of those
televised 'look like a fool’ contests.
“All you have to do is write an essay on
why you want to win. You’re a great
writer. You can win it. And it’s for two.”
“I’ll think about it.” I started to put
the phone on the bed table.
“You can’t think about it. The essay is due first thing Monday morning.”
We spent about 15 minutes arguing about
why I would or would not do it. I agreed
to do it so I could go back to sleep.
When I woke up a second time, I groaned
and knew I would have to write something or Hannah would never let me forget
that I had blown a trip around the world.
I didn’t have time to write a really good argument to win such a contest Even if I wrote a terrific essay I knew I
wouldn’t win. I had never won anything
in my life.
I started to get out of bed when my
newly purchased book fell off the table.
It seemed to do a lot of accidental falling. Could it really be magic? I laughed at myself and then….
I looked down at it. And thought a while. Hmm.
Why not? The author’s probably
dead and nobody is ever going to read my entry, anyway. It will make Hannah happy that at least I
tried. I rewrote the first chapter on
Italy a little bit, a very little bit and e-mailed it off with the on-line form
before the deadline.
Two months later, I panicked when I
learned my entry had been chosen as a semi-finalist in the contest. Hannah was joyful. We were to be present at the naming of the
winner at a Writer’s Guild Dinner at the Old Delmonico Restaurant.
I did not want to go to this event. Someone was sure to recognize that I was a
plagiarist and arrest me or something terrible.
This proved that no one ever read contest entries. They were just pulled from a barrel. But
Hannah insisted we go. Perhaps I could
withdraw my entry.
Hannah and I were seated at the front
table with the other semi-finalists, I felt my feet shaking. I could not stand up. The judges for the contest were announced and
filed out on a small stage. One of the
three was a white haired gentleman, with a perpetual scowl. I squinted my eyes. It was an older version of Henry
Rutherford. OMG! What now?
I barely breathed until another
contestant won the grand prize of the Around the World Trip. I was left in my obscurity. But wait.
This year they had a special second prize. And I was named. Oh, no, this was worse than my worst
nightmare.
I stumbled up on stage to win my all
expenses paid trip for two to, where else, Italy. Henry Rutherford glared at me as he presented
it to me. I relaxed. He’s senile.
He doesn’t remember what he wrote.
I was safe after all.
He leaned over and whispered in my
ear. “I was tempted, very tempted to
vote you the grand prize. But, in
fairness, I just couldn’t do that. However,
it's gratifying to know that someone still reads my old books.”
The End
delightful story. Delighted by ending that surprised me.
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