In the opening episode of Gilmore Girls, Dean tells Rory he first noticed her while she was reading with intense concentration. An accident involving a baseball, blood everywhere, nurses, and a freaked out girlfriend were involved … all in front of Rory who never looked up from her book. “I have to meet that girl,” Dean said.
I used to read during middle school band practice. Sometimes. When I could get away with it. And being a quiet, well-behaved, good student . . . I could get away with quite a lot. I was in percussion, so when the other sections needed to work on their parts of the piece, I’d sit in the back and read Wheel of Time while the music blared.
For a while, I took to reading in the hallways while walking in-between classes. To be honest, part of this was because the book was so good, but a larger part was that I felt so out of place in my skin (as afflicts most 13-year-olds) that books felt like armor.
I was thinking about this when I went to read by my apartment pool for a couple of hours this afternoon. I’d prefer to go in the morning when the pool is virtually empty and pack up as soon as the crowds come (I’m nothing if not antisocial at heart), but today I wanted to be out in the sun while I finished my book (Son of Neptune).
As my luck goes, within twenty minutes of getting settled two separate groups got a pool volleyball game going, turning the busy but relatively quiet area into a loud (somewhat drunken) sports arena. I wasn’t really annoyed though, I had come during the afternoon knowing it was going to be busy and that I would have to be okay with noise while I read if I wanted to soak up the sun.
And it was fine – I only got up once to grab them their ball – and my reading outlasted their two quick games. After though, one woman who had played came up to me and asked what I was reading.
“You were so focused through all that,” she said, “that we are all really curious.”
I didn’t realize my presence had been enough to become a topic of conversation for them, but okay. I told her and then gave her a short synopsis of the book when she asked.
That was it. I finished the book, packed up, and went home.
Was this armor too? I could have, I suppose, joined their game. I like volleyball. I think they would have asked me if I hadn’t so pointedly been engrossed in my book. I wouldn’t have been scared to ask myself. But I didn’t.
Because I wanted to read. This wasn’t reading to armor up, this was reading to read, and being grateful that the act of enjoyment also discouraged outside interruption. I’m rarely going to be the kind of person who puts down a book to hang out with strangers. Good or bad, that’s who I am. And it seems like people are still fascinated by those who read with intense concentration. I think I’ll be okay.
With Love,
Natalie