Character Love

I know that I am a mere character in someone’s book. I have suspected for some time now that I might be; all the signs point in that direction. No memories of my early life until, SUDDENLY, it appears…a perfect flashback. Mainly, though, I seem to cease for long periods of time. I just hang there, suspended in the middle of whatever activity was going on at the time. I once lay in the grass and looked at stars for 86 hours. How in the world do you explain that? No bathroom breaks, no conversations, no changing of the light and fading of the stars, and no movement of the earth on its axis: just me, laying in the itchy cold germ infested grass for 3 ½ days. That’s just not natural.

One day, though, it ended. I was buffed and polished and given my own version of happily ever after…or as happily ever after as the best friend gets (seriously, she got the man of her dreams, a huge wedding, and a new castle-like home, I couldn’t even get a bridesmaid to look at me, the emotionally damaged best man). So I went on, living in the pool house, working a wonderful job, and they all lived… Until it started over. Dozens of ‘me’ are jotting around being read by random people. Sometimes a few pages and then shelved and started over days later by someone else, sometimes more, sometimes much less.

I learned to survive with my own company, sometimes even being so lucky as to be suspended in time while with my friends so that we could at least converse and make faces at each other. But then, she arrived. The woman who would change my life and allow me to soar…the woman who bought my book.

She is beautiful, with long dark hair that softly tickles my story as she reads and glintingly golden eyes that shine with her emotions each and every time she pores over the tale. The first time she read the book, my woman (who I would later learn is named Alicia) immediately called her own best friend to share her find. “You have to read this Sar,” she gushed, “I think I’m in love with Carl, the best friend. I wish I could find a funny man like that!” I smiled, sitting in my end position of pool side bliss, and thought “I love you too my dark haired beauty.”

The second time she read the book she called her book club president to beg for a discussion on my story, the next month there were 8 women and 3 men who clutched their own shiny new copies of the book, 11 people sighing over the story and touting the characters; Alicia the most vocal.

The last time she read my book, she had just broken up with a horrendously boring and sarcastic man. Alicia poured over the book, slowly reading any scene that I was in and crying in all the levels of sound possible. I wanted to reach out and wipe her tears, I was desperate to tuck her hair behind her ears, I stretched and pushed….I would be this close and then a page turn would happen. So I wished, and hoped, and tried, and prayed. Late that night, as she was finally snoring peacefully, I realized that the book had been left open beside her. I wasn’t in that part of the story, having gone away for the chapter, but I just KNEW that if I could there; well, I could get to her.

I was right. It took most of the night and all of my concentration, but I finally felt a pop in the thin veil that keeps our worlds apart. It was like moving through Jello, but I made it just in time for Alicia to punch me out.

When I came to, Alicia had me hog tied and covered by a police man…but she was more concerned that half of her book seemed to have been blanked out. That was all this morning, and I am now sitting in a tiny cell, in a tiny jail, waiting for my love. We’ll see how long it takes her to believe me. All because I fell in love with the woman who read my story, instead of my best friend’s.

 

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