This I Believe Rough Draft

I Believe in the Comfort of a Good Book

With the knowledge that this may make me sound like a geek, some of my best friends have been books. First, there was Little Women. It was the first book that was actually mine. Before Jo, Amy, and Beth (I never liked Meg), I always had to return my friends to the library after two weeks. But from the first crease in the velvet-coated cover, these three stayed with me. I wanted to be as sweet as Beth, as pretty as Amy, and as independent and accomplished as Jo.
By the time I was carrying a copy of Catcher in the Rye in my backpack, I had met a lot of friends through the pages of well-worn books. When I discovered in 10th grade that two well-known murderers also carried the Salinger book with them at all times, I realized my identification with Holden Caulfield might not be such a great thing. So I looked to other authors for friends that could lead me down less violent paths.
There was Plath's autobiographical sketch in The Bell Jar. Okay, she was crazy and suicidal, but she was also insanely funny and eventually overcomes her depression. She was a beacon of hope to me; she survives even though Plath succumbs to her mental illness. Taming of the Shrew's Katarina was the naughty friend your parents wouldn't let you hang out with, but I got to hang out with her anytime I wanted. Margaret Atwood's version of the girl everyone wants to be is Cordelia from Cat's Eye. Come to think of it, she's a little off-kilter too.
Which friends had a good influence on me? Hamlet taught me to use my words with care (and slip in a pun or two in veiled insults). The mothers and daughters of Amy Tan's Joy Luck Club reminded me that the distance between my mother and myself was not as far as it often seemed. Charlotte taught me the importance of words, while Wilbur spurred on the unwavering belief of hope. Ender inspired me to self-reflect and make amends. Scout spoke her mind about injustices in the world, as only a child can see them. The six friends from A Secret History were the most intellectual, heart-warming murderers I ever encountered. Hussein's Kite Runner allowed me to see the world through another's eyes, and that, yes, you can go back again to make things right.
I met friends in the yellowed-pages of trashy paperbacks and in the gilded cloth of "high literature." And, yet, the book that is my best friend was long neglected.
I first encountered A Circle of Friends many years ago. My grandmother was the quintessential bibliophile and brought me my love of books. Probably the only book I ever "stole" from her is the story of overweight Benny and abandoned Eve. It is set in Ireland, the roots of my family, and is about as harmless a narrative as was ever told. There is not a single swear word, no violence, and sex scenes that could be shown on the Disney Channel. But for many years, it was my comforting friend. Home sick with a cold? Wrap up in a warm blanket and skip to the part in the middle where Benny meets Jack Foley. Tired from cramming for exams? Start at the beginning and you'll be asleep in no time (as if my grandmother was reading the story to me herself). Had a fight with your boyfriend? Frantically skim the section in which Eve almost stabs Nan.
Missing your grandmother? Just holding the book will bring her back.
The lovely, soft woman who raised me contracted abdominal lymphoma a year ago in June. Her decline was rapid, and by July she was permanently hospitalized. Chemo and radiation only sped up the shutting-down of her body. On August 22nd, we decided as a family that she would come home to die in peace. We planned Christmas, knowing it would be her last. I rearranged the furniture in my grandparents' living room so that she would be "where the action was," not relegated to the bedroom as if she was sick. She would come home on the 24th after she had built up some strength.
On the 23rd, Granny was very tired. Her eyes closed unwillingly, and her words were muffled and strained.
When I arrived at the hospital on the 24th, it was evident that she was not coming home that day. I had brought Circle of Friends with me on the morning. Not having read it in years, I knew it would be a joy to read it to my grandmother just as she had read it with me all those years ago. She was tired, but she could listen to one of her favorite stories and hear my voice.
"Benny was large and square, but she wouldn't look like that in the pink velvet dress. She would be just like the fairy dancers they had seen on the stage." These were the last words my grandmother heard that night. They are marked in my old tattered copy, the one that I had inadvertently taken from my grandmother all those years ago.
Feeling lonely? Turn to page 4 and start with the starred passage. I am immediately surrounded by all of my old friends. Holden. Jo. Katarina. Benny.
Granny.