Old Friends From Dead Trees

I reconnected with a childhood friend a while ago.  The first question she asked was, "Do you still sleep with like a dozen books?"

It started in hospitals.  In rural Maine when you live 2 hours from the nearest hospital your working class parents can't visit every day.  Also, hospital staff always put me in a private room, I guess so every time they shot me up with adrenaline it wouldn't freak out other kids. I always managed to wheeze, when the nurses tried to remove my books from the bed, "No...please..."  Books became my comfort, my nourishment, my loyal friends.

At first I had thought Kindle was a genius space saver, but the cumulative eyestrain and dry eye and headaches sent me back to my friends made of trees, friends carefully crafted and maybe a little stinky, because there is nothing like a used book..

Last night after a horrid nightmare I threw my arm over the cool angles of this book, even smiling when the sharp corner bit me in the armpit.  I held it close in the dark and sighed, flooded with comfort.

A story is always there for you.