by Jenn Kelly
Perfect. He would remember and treasure this. He didn’t have to write anything down. It was already written out for him. He wouldn’t forget.
Jackson tucked the Book into his leather satchel and followed Meeka down the hall.
Chapter 34
In Which Nothing Particularly Important Happens
They walked slowly down the hall. Jackson was lost in the loveliness of his thoughts. As for what Meeka was thinking, who knows? I had the opportunity to ask her once what she was thinking, and she replied, “The color red, if daisies would make a good bed, and how to make shoelaces out of molasses.”
I never bothered to ask again.
Meeka stopped in front of the ultramarine blue wall.
“Here we are!”
Chapter 35
In Which Something Small Happens
Jackson looked around. They were in the middle of the hallway. “Here we are, where?”
Meeka rolled her big brown eyes at him. “Here we are at Eleissa’s Reading Room, of course!”
Chapter 36
In Which There Is Another Room
What would you imagine a reading room looks like? Well, you would imagine a reading room to look like The Book Room right? With a huge fireplace and a cheery fire; bookshelves filled with books; large, comfy, squashy chairs; dark wood paneling; and a lovely place where you could put your feet up and drink hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles, right?
This was not the case at all. No huge fireplace with a cheery fire, no bookshelves with books, no large, comfy, squashy chairs, and no dark wood paneling.
Instead, dark purple curtains hung on the walls. On the walls, if you can imagine! There was only one window, and it was dirty, save for the smudged mark Jackson had made. The room was completely bare.
Except for the large, brown tent in the middle of the room.
Chapter 37
In Which We Learn about the Book, the Author, and Fred the Turtle
An eerie light glowed within the tent, casting strange shadows on the walls.
Meeka lifted the flap. “Eleissa, we’ve come to visit you!”
There was no answer.
“Eleiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisaaaa!” she sang.
A loud irritated sigh came from within the tent. “I told you that I’m reading!”
“But I want you to meet Jackson!”
“I’ve already met him.”
Meeka climbed into the tent, the flap closing behind her. Jackson heard angry little whispers and then a pleading voice.
Then quiet.
The tent flap opened.
“Well, come in then,” the grouchy voice said.
Jackson pulled back the flap and climbed in.
It was a nice setup actually. Especially for a tent. A huge, comfy-looking, orange sleeping bag lay on the floor. It was surrounded by purple cushions edged in gold trim. A battery-operated lantern hung from the middle of the tent, softly lighting the inside. Eleissa sat scrunched up in the corner, her long hair hanging in her face. She put her book down and looked at Jackson with large, blue, serious eyes.
“So, what do you want to know?” she asked.
Jackson looked at Meeka, who sat with her legs crossed as she chewed on the ends of her long brown hair. Jackson sat beside her, pulling off his satchel.
“Uh…” Jackson articulated. (Articulate is when you’re describing something really well. But given Jackson’s vocabulary at this moment, the word is actually used in irony. Irony is when something opposite of what should happen happens. Like when you find money on the street and then you lose it.)
Eleissa slowly tucked a piece of long blonde hair behind her ear, er, elf ear.
“What should I ask?” he whispered to Meeka.
Eleissa rolled her big blue eyes in exasperation.
“I’m a Reader,” she said, as if that explained everything.
But that didn’t explain everything, did it? It didn’t explain why she was sitting in a tent in the middle of a room or why the window was dirty or why her job was to read. Nor did it explain the cosine of 7.88 or what the word for “couch” was in Spanish.
Jackson just stared at her. Words were not forming in his mouth.
“It means that I read things. I can read anything,” she said superciliously. (Supercilious is when someone is very arrogant and grouchy. Like when your cat is sleeping on the couch, but then he rolls over and hits the floor, and he stands up and shakes all over? It’s the look on his face as he walks away. If you don’t have a cat, maybe you could YouTube one or something.)
Jackson looked at Meeka, who nodded very seriously.
“What do you read?”
Eleissa picked up the large book she was holding. It was leather bound with very thick pages. It was the size of an extensive dictionary. Her tiny fingers caressed the pages.
“Right now I’m reading about the progression of a butterfly in our backyard. I want to know if he ends up migrating or not.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very interesting story,” Jackson snorted.
Eleissa flipped her hair off her face. “I’m a Reader. I read and find out what happens. And then I know.” She looked at him through lowered eyelashes. “Haven’t you ever wanted to know everything?” Jackson shrugged. She smiled. “Well, I read and find out. So now I know a lot. I probably know more than you do.”
Jackson didn’t say anything. She probably knew more than he did, and he wasn’t about to get into a big discussion about it.
“Ask me a question, any question,” she challenged.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Can you tell me about Fred?” Ha! She wouldn’t know anything about Fred.
Eleissa sniffed self-importantly and shook the heavy book slowly in her hand.
She placed the heavy book onto a purple velvet cushion edged in gold trim and gently opened its pages. She looked down at the book and read quietly.
“Fred is your turtle. He gets lost next week when you clean his cage, and your little sister finds him and hides him in her dollhouse for three weeks, feeding him broccoli until you find out. You get upset but then realize that this is a great way of getting rid of your broccoli.” Eleissa closed the book.
Jackson was amazed. “Wow. I’m amazed.”
“I already knew you’d say that.”
“What do you mean?”
Eleissa smirked at him. “I’ve been reading your story.”
Jackson was confused. “I’m confused. How can you do that?”
Eleissa picked up the book, shaking it again. She opened the first page.
“Jackson’s life—Jackson will be born two weeks late after his mother is in labor for twenty-seven hours.”
Eleissa flipped a few pages, continuing in a bored voice.
“Jackson will be the pitcher when he plays baseball today, but every single batter he throws against will hit the ball. They will lose the game. Jackson will be hard on himself.”
Jackson’s face turned red. “How do you know that? Why is that in there?”
Eleissa smiled a Cheshire-cat smile at him. “I told you. I’m a Reader.”
Jackson frowned as an awful thought occurred to him.
Eleissa could read every terrible thing that happened to him. She could read about how he lost every baseball game he pitched. How he made his little sister cry when he threw her doll out the window. How he prayed at night for a best friend. Jackson felt frustration creeping up on him. Don’t you hate it when things creep up on you? Anger, burps, your dentist appointment.
This was definitely distressing. And embarrassing.
“I don’t think you should read anymore.” Jackson stood up, narrowly missing the lantern, and turned to leave.
“But don’t you want to know your future?” Eleissa whispered to him.
Jackson stopped. He looked back at Eleissa, her knowing blue eyes looking into his. He sat back down slowly, rustling the orange sleeping bag.
“How could you possibly know the future?” he asked, thinking ab
out the mirrors.
Eleissa opened the book to the middle, its thick pages rustling softly.
She cleared her throat. “Jackson sits back down on the orange, comfy sleeping bag and watches Eleissa doubtfully.” She arched her right eyebrow. “Oh you doubt me, do you?”
Jackson shrugged uncomfortably.
“Jackson shrugs uncomfortably,” she read aloud.
Jackson just watched her.
“Jackson just watches her. The Author picks up his latte and takes a sip.”
Jackson shook his head. “Wait, what did you say?”
Eleissa looked back down at the book. “The Author picked up his latte and took a sip.”
“What Author? Wait a minute. Who’s the Author? And why did you say that ‘the Author takes a drink,’ and then when you read it again, you said he already did it. Now, I’m not a grammatical genius, but even I know when something is happening, and when something has already happened.”
Eleissa smiled. “You mean the difference between the present and the not-so-distant past?”
“What Author? Who are you talking about?”
Eleissa put the book down and took a deep breath.
“Jackson, I’m going to explain something to you and I’m only going to explain it once. I’m tired of explaining it to every single person who Meeka brings in here, unauthorized!”J
Meeka’s fingers flew into her mouth. She giggled around them.
Eleissa leaned forward. “Jackson, who do you think made you? Who do you think knows everything about you? Who do you think knows what’s going to happen to you?”
Jackson shrugged his shoulders. He could think of a couple of answers, but none of them really made sense. Eleissa looked down at the book.
“You really have no idea?” she asked.
“Stop that!”
Eleissa smiled and closed the book. She leaned toward Jackson. Jackson leaned forward to her. Their noses almost touched.
“The Author,” she said softly.
“The Author?” Jackson asked.
“The Author,” whispered Meeka.
Eleissa’s face glowed. “Jackson, you weren’t made by chance. You aren’t something that happened when a couple of cells merged and duplicated. You were created
by the Author, on purpose and for a purpose. Everyone and everything was created by the Author. The Author has written a story for everyone, and he knows how it turns out. If you listen carefully enough, you can hear your story. Of course no one listens anymore. No one has time to listen to stories. They’re too busy trying to be, but they have no idea who they are supposed to be.”
“Hang on. You’re telling me that I’m created by the Author.”
Eleissa nodded.
“And that the Author created everyone.”
“Yes.”
“So this Author, this great Author who wrote my story, this Author wrote that I would be terrible at baseball? That I would fail in school? That I wouldn’t have any…” he broke off, trying not to cry.
“Friends?” asked Eleissa in a quiet voice.
Jackson quickly rubbed his eyes. Meeka put her hand on Jackson’s shoulder and patted him.
“I’m your friend, Jackson.”
Jackson pushed her hand off.
“Oh yeah, perfect! That’s what I need! My only friend is a make-believe little elf who lives in my great-aunt’s hair!”
Meeka shrank back as if she’d been slapped. Eleissa’s eyes flashed angrily.
“You think we’re make-believe?” she hissed. Meeka started to cry.
Eleissa sat back, her face hidden in the shadows. “Jackson, I can’t make you believe anything. That’s not my job. My job is to tell you your story, to tell you about the Author who is writing about you and that’s it. If you make friends, whether you think they’re make-believe or not, that’s up to you. I’m just a Reader. You believe what you want.”
Meeka’s little sobs got a lot louder. Jackson was ashamed. He turned to Meeka.
“I’m sorry, Meeka. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“I…thought…you…were…my…my…friend!” she gasped in between sobs.
Jackson reached out, pulled her little body over and hugged her. “I am your friend, Meeka. I’m so sorry. I’ve…I’ve never had a friend before so I…look, you are my friend. I’m sorry.” Meeka ran her arm across her nose, leaving a little trail of wet snot across her face.
“So I’m your first friend?” she snorted.
“Yeah, you’re my first friend,” replied Jackson.
“So, I’m also your best friend?”
“Yeah, I guess you are my best friend.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a tissue. He handed it to Meeka. She snorted, honking into the tissue. She hugged Jackson tightly.
“Best friend! Best friend!” she sang.
“You know, technically she’s also your worst friend,” said Eleissa.
Jackson glared at her. Meeka hugged Jackson tighter.
“I don’t care!” she cried out.
After a few moments of hugging and “I’m sorrys,” which are actually quite boring to read about, so we’ll just skip them, they got back to business. Meeka snuggled very closely to Jackson. This would normally make him uncomfortable, but given that he had just hurt her feelings, he put up with it.
“So, tell me more about this Author.”
“Well,” Eleissa began, “He’s beautiful and smart, of course, and he’s very funny. He spends a lot of time writing, and everything he writes happens.”
Jackson thought for a moment. “Then why did he let those…unhappy things happen to me? To anyone, for that matter?”
Eleissa leaned in close to Jackson. “That’s not for us to know.”
“What?”
“The Author knows better than we do. I mean, he did create us after all. Jackson, the Author really cares about every single character he writes about, whether they are good or bad. The Author cares whether you eat bean burgers instead of greasy ones,” she explained.
Jackson’s face turned red.
“The Author knows everything. The Author plans out every single detail in your life. Everyone has a purpose because of the Author. You, me, the butterfly…we all have a purpose.”
Jackson’s head spun. Eleissa turned back to the book.
“You’ll get it in a minute,” she said.
Jackson leaned back, lying down on the sleeping bag. Meeka handed him a purple velvet cushion edged
in gold trim, which he thanked her for and tucked comfortably under his head. His eyes focused on the swaying lantern.
And then Jackson had a good think.
I can’t tell you how long he thought because time seems to fly or alternatively stop when you have a good think, and seeing as how Jackson wasn’t timing himself, I have no idea. And it’s completely irrelevant. What is relevant is that he took the time to think and some things need time to be thought about. So if you have something worth thinking about, I strongly suggest you get thinking on your own big think. I am delighted to tell you that he got it. But I can’t tell you how Jackson got it. I can’t even tell you what he was thinking about when he came to the point of getting it. But he got it. And it made sense. One day when you have the time and you can think about it, you’ll get it too.
“Oh, I get it now!” Jackson exclaimed, sitting up. Meeka clapped her hands joyfully and handed him her snotty tissue. Ech. Jackson took it delicately and placed it on the floor. He turned to Eleissa.
“So can you tell me what the Author is doing now?”
Eleissa flipped the page. “The Author changes the tracks of his funky jazz music, puts his red glasses on, and asks for another latte.”
Jackson grinned. He didn’t get it. But he got it.
“So, now that you’ve started to understand the Author, is there anything else you want to know?” Eleissa asked.
Jackson thought for a moment. Eleissa glanced down at the book.
“No, don
’t ask me that,” she said.
“Stop that!” Then he thought some more.
“The mirrors in the hall,” he started. “I saw me, but I was…older and smarter and better and stronger…”
Eleissa nodded.
“…but how do I get there?” he finished.
Eleissa delicately fingered the book pages, not looking at him. “Jackson, I can’t answer that for you.”
“What do you mean? Of course you can! Just read ahead, or give me the book and I’ll read it!” and he held out his hand to take the book.
Eleissa shook her head, her bangs falling into her eyes. Her nose twitched at him.
“I can’t let you read it,” she said slowly.
“What? Why not?”
“Because I’m the Reader. It’s my job to read, and you aren’t allowed to read it,” she explained, shrugging her shoulders.
Jackson snatched the book from her hands and opened it.
It was blank.
“That’s not fair!” he yelled, throwing the book down. It hit the floor with a heavy thud.
Eleissa nodded austerely. (Austerely is without humor. Like when you’ve just dumped your glass of milk on the dog’s head, and your mother catches you and gives you that look.) “Life is not fair. But that’s the way it goes. You aren’t supposed to read your own future. If you did, you would be horrified and excited and glad and angry and sad all at the same time.” She carefully picked up the book, smoothing the creased edges.
Jackson threw himself down on the sleeping bag with a huff. He was angry. But he was also very tired. No one said anything for a long time. Eleissa even stopped reading. They just sat there quietly.
After some time, Jackson sat up. “Can you at least tell me if what I saw in the mirrors is true?”
Eleissa looked fixedly at Jackson, wrapping her blonde hair around a small finger. “What you see is who you are. If you don’t see that, then you’re not who you are anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, exasperated.