February 25th, 2010

Thank you!

Bless You

I just finished reading If You're Reading This, It's Too Late, the second book in the Secret Series by Pseudonymous Bosch (the first being The Name of This Book Is Secret). The gimmick is that the author is really afraid to write these books because you, the reader, might end up getting into trouble with the villains. Which leads to lots of cute narration humor. This line right here is a prime example of why I enjoy reading these books:
You will notice that I have numbered the chapters in this book backward. Like a countdown to a rocket launch. Or a bomb. With any luck, the book will explode at the end, and I won't have to finish it.
This book is structured differently from the first one, which had to introduce a lot of characters and mythology. I felt that there were some very Harry Potter-esque elements in this book, but mostly in the sense that all children's fantasy books have similarities. I do like that the main character is a twelve-year-old girl survivalist.

Anyway, I continue to recommend checking out this series, and I look forward to the rest, especially because I have discovered that it is a pentology based on the five senses! The first book had the Symphony of Smells, and this one had the Sound Prism, and so on. Oh, Pseudonymous Bosch.

I was on BART en route to rehearsal when someone sat down next to me. It was a woman.

She was sniffling. She blew her nose with a tissue and then put it back in her purse. A minute later, she pulled it out and lightly blew her nose again before putting it back in her purse. She only had the one tissue, it seemed. Like me, she was trying to get the most out of it, sullying every square inch individually and folding it up carefully to reach new clean areas.

Back when I was sick, I had kept some tissues in my jacket pocket, but I got better before I used them all. I had kept the tissues left in my pocket for a week or so, and every time I put my hand in my pocket, I felt them there and wanted to throw them away. But I thought they might come in handy. The other night at rehearsal, I had used one to throw something in the trash for a fellow cast member. I had one left.

The woman next to me sniffled as she wrote in a notebook. She sniffled as she read a book and underlined passages. I waited to see whether she would attempt to use her one tissue again, but it seemed she had given up on it. She continued sniffling.

Finally, I pulled the tissue out of my pocket—okay, that is a lie, since I had pulled the tissue out of my pocket earlier, waiting for the right moment—and handed it to her, saying, "Do you want a tissue?"

"Oh, thank you!" she said.

"Your other one ran out," I said. "I noticed."

I had been wanting to get rid of that last tissue in my jacket pocket for a while, but apparently I had been saving it for her.