covert ops.

when i was eight or nine my dad clipped a desk lamp to the side of my bed for nighttime reading. after catching me reading when i was supposed to be sound asleep a few times, my parents started to patrol the hallway to make sure that i wasn’t still up and buried in a book. i became a pro at detecting the first signs of movement on the other side of the house—my ears would perk up at the slightest sound of feet flattening carpet fibers. i figured out how to click off my reading light silently (the trick was turning the knob counter clockwise), stash my book under the pillow and then roll over to face the wall feigning sleep. after the shadow in the doorway had lingered for a few seconds and then retreated to the living room, i would pull my book back out, heart pounding.

i was thinking about this a few nights ago, about how it felt when books and reading was a discovery, a new thrill. i am reading the girl with the dragon tattoo right now and it is the first time in a while that after shutting off the lights and trying to sleep that i can’t stop thinking about what is going to happen next and inevitably the lights go back on and i devour twenty more pages. at least now i don’t have to worry about getting in trouble for it with mom and dad.