I suppose it's best to begin by talking about a book that means a lot to me. It means a lot to me for a lot of reasons, and I'll probably end up talking to you about this book often. It was one of my favorite books growing up, and yet it was this book that has given me the most grief.
Why you ask?
Well, I'll get there.
In grade school, far and away my favorite book was something called The Lightning Time. We had a first edition copy, signed by the author, and a copy of the article from the Albany newspaper from when it came out tucked lovingly within it's pages. So, I'd always been told to keep it safe.
Keep it safe? Hah. I brought it to school.
And, I never saw it again.
Perhaps you remember, Mrs. B? I think I even bugged you about it.
Now God, truly, only knows what happened. I have no idea. I've scoured the teacher's class room from the year I was there (several times over, I might add). I've asked around. After I brought it in to show everyone -- and I think I did show it around -- it just vanished. Now, I've had some suspicions. There was someone who'd steal things from me back then and blame it on my memory, which, even then wasn't quite so fantastic (But, honestly, why would I have been at the Grand Union without my mom, where she supposedly "found" my lunch money check? Note: if you're going to lie, try to at least make it plausible.). And, I could have honestly put it down somewhere or loaned it to someone and forgot. (Did I mention I'm a bit of a ditz?) Or, even more possible, I put it down at the end of reading period and someone else just picked it up thinking it was one of the other books you could pick up and take home and did just that. I have no idea. I have never seen it again and believe me my mom was P.O.'ed. The author was a good friend, and even if he never did publish anything else, the sentiment for that book was HUGE. Well, he did publish again, but I digress. Because that's another story for another time.
Anyway, as I've gotten older, I've had an outright OBSESSION in finding another copy. They've been super hard to find. When the Internet finally became more widely available (Wow, I feel like I'm dating myself, but really, I lived in a very small town at the time and the most reliable internet was in the college library for a really long time because *pish* who has the interwebs at home?), I started my search. I'd spend hours looking for another copy. I had the lady at the local used bookstore on the look out. Even if it wasn't my copy, it was a copy and I figured that at some point, we'd see Greg again and maybe he could sign it after I told him the "funny little story" about what happened to the last book. (In my head, this always played out to be funnier than it probably would have been. He still doesn't know, unless Mom told him, and that would honestly break my heart.)
In college, I would tell roommates and good friends about the book and I had nearly all of them looking. Now, that proves friendship, right there. Scouring shelves, Amazon, and EBay from one end of the country to another looking for a book that you couldn't care less about all because your best friend is just possessed with finding another copy. That and looking to keep me in chocolate-covered crack (also another story for another day), which was just about as mythical and mysterious. You'd think I was looking for the danged holy grail, the way I looked for this thing.
By the way, Genn, my last college roommate is a saint. She really is, poor girl, for putting up with me. That's all I've got to say.
So, I spent a LOT of time looking. I'm not exaggerating. If anything, I'm underselling this. I was Ahab, and by God, that book was looking large and illusive and very, very, very white. I did eventually find a copy, but I think that's another story for another day. But, believe you me, there were things about that book I hadn't remembered by the time I got that other copy, and eventually after reading it, I grew to understand some of what my mom had been telling me about Greg's early work. But, I digress. Another story, another day.
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