The Reader

A day seen through another's eyes.

The Reader

8:30 AM

I triple-checked the locks to make sure that my house was well and truly burglar-proof before making my way out into the street. I stopped at the food-vendor opposite my apartment building and he handed over my breakfast as soon as I neared his cart. He has been feeding me in the mornings for the past few years now and knew exactly which sandwich I would like to eat on each day. He also knew that I was a stickler for time and kept the food ready at precisely 8.30.

9.00 AM

I took an auto to work as always, I fumbled in my purse making sure I got the right notes out before handing them over. I walked up the stairs carefully and entered the well air-conditioned, detergent scented rooms I worked in.

9.30 AM

I started on developing the first X-ray of the day. I worked in a hospital but had almost zero contact with patients or doctors. This suited me just fine, I liked being the X-Ray Dark Room Technician which is what they call me, for lack of a better title. Also it was the perfect job for me.

12.30 PM

Lunchtime. I always dreaded the time the sun made its way to the middle of the sky. Sometimes I would hide out in my office and eat a few bananas, but other days the ravenous hunger in my stomach would leave me no option but to propel myself towards the cafeteria. The nurses and other technicians were all perfectly nice to me, but somehow the sympathy will always shine through all the friendliness. I could never be one of them. So I stopped trying.  But I did take advantage of the fact that one of them was always willing to stand in line for me and buy me lunch. I would squint dismally at the menu, and stand looking hopelessly lost for some time, usually someone will then step forward and tell me that they will take care of lunch.

6.15 PM

My shift comes to an end and I’m free to walk out into the city and enjoy the night life. I snorted, as if. Walking down a flight of stairs is always more challenging that walking up, I have to take care not to trip down carelessly.  My klutz-ness has not been helpful in tackling my disability.

6.30 PM

I sometimes like to walk home. My parents would be flabbergasted if they heard of it. But I always liked hearing the noises of the city and smelling the different scents it wore in different parts of the city.

6.55 PM

A Jingle. A blast of cool air. And a person knocked into me as I stood outside a store. Strong arms caught me before I fell and guided me inside the store. The owner of the arms, apologising all the way. I smiled at him, and told him that it was okay. I could sense his worry but time caught up to him and he had to hurry on his way, leaving me amidst rows and rows of books. I loved coming to this bookstore with the crisp smell of unread pages, the stories silently screaming out to be heard.

7.00 PM

I stood browsing my favourite section, Literary/Fiction. I felt someone standing behind me and I turned around.

“May I help you?” he asked, in perfectly accented English. No trace of the Tamil undertone. So he couldn’t be a store helper. All of them knew me, and usually left me alone to do as I will.

“No, thank you.” I said in an equally crisp tone, turning back around to the shelf and picking up a book. I held the book near my nose, and smelt it. I really loved the smell of books. I then held it next to my ear. This was a ritual I had perfected over the years which inevitably helped me pick out the best books.

“Why do you do that?” The not-a-helper person asked me. I was pretty sure this boy must be around fourteen years of age. Maybe less. His voice sounded like it had broken quite recently. And the overdose of deodorant I could smell from ten feet away was a dead give-away to his recent puberty-achieving status.    

7.02 PM

I ignored the boy for as long as I could before replying, “The good books always smell the worst,”

“Smelling,” he paused. “Okay, it is a little weird, but I can understand that. Why do you listen to it? Books can’t talk.” I smiled a wicked grin and chose not to answer, hoping that he would believe that I was just another crazy lady and leave me alone.

7.04 PM

I made my choice. I picked one of the worst smelling hardbound books and walked slowly towards the cash counter. The boy trailed behind, his curiosity making me anxious to get away at once. I didn’t like strangers learning my secret. I tried to hide it the best I could.

7.08 PM

I was nearly at the exit when a young voice stopped me, “Why do you buy a book when you can’t read?” the boy was standing near my elbow now, his voice curious- not accusatory as I had feared.

“I like the stories," I smile sadly, not even sure if I he could see it. “My nephew reads them out to me.” The lie came easily to me, for this was one I always used when faced with this question. It was partly true, I did have a nephew.

I felt his hand at my elbow guiding me back inside the shop and he made me sit in one of the armchairs they have placed strategically around the store.

7.10 PM

His voice filled the bookstore as he started to read aloud from the book I had picked. Tears pricked at my eyes and I quietly let them fall down into my lap. I was too spellbound to move.  Too moved to care.

7.30 PM

I stopped him. “That’s enough,” I said. “Thank you.”

He handed the book back to me, and I had to ask, “Who are you?”

“A nephew.” 

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

This is quite an interesting and sweet story. Very well-written, too, but would be better if you could reduce the number of times you say "I". If could accept a bit of advice, I recommend you make a few changes like this: Instead of " I stood browsing my favourite section, Literary/Fiction. I felt someone standing behind me and I turned around." write it thusly-"While browsing my favourite section, literary fiction, I felt someone behind me and turned around."

[Harshini Rajachander]

Thank you so much for that piece of advice! I will keep that in mind in the future.
Thanks again!
-Harshini.

[Persona]

I like the layout of your story and the attempt to try something different. I was interested in the part about working in a hospital, so if you have any experience of that you should definitely expand on it. I like the idea of the character who can't read. I also enjoyed the little twist at the end. Although, it is a bit confusing - how would you find your aunt/uncle randomly? You don't have to explain it though if you don't want to. The problem with a diary of daily events is that the general concept isn't so interesting. It reads like a list of things the character has done. Maybe each time could be something important or meaningful? Maybe there could be hints about a lack of reading ability - maybe they squint to read the board in the cafeteria and that's why a co-worker buys lunch? Your character could excuse that and say they weren't wearing their glasses.

Another thing, the character's age changes. For example, 'I worked in a hospital but had almost zero contact with patients or doctors.' Suggests an adult. 'My parents would be flabbergasted if they heard of it' reads like a child. If they're a working adult what's wrong with walking home? Also, 'that I was just a crazy old lady'. How old is the character?

[Harshini Rajachander]

Thanks! I will work on your suggestions. About the age of the narrator, I should have been more clear. She is an adult living in India, with a disability. Over-bearing parents was what I had in mind. And I figured that any teenager might look at an adult and think of them as being old.
Again,
Thank you for the review. I found it to be very helpful.

[Persona]

You're welcome.