second chance books

"2 minutes until closing," yells the man with long gray hair who looks like he belongs to a Indie rock band in the 70's. He eyes me, making his message especially clear to me that I got to go. I smile sheepishly. 

As he turns away, my eyes grow wide. And of course I start to panic because I've got a whole four shelves to look through to add to my three-fourths filled paper grocery bag of used books. I need at least five more books in order to fill up the entire bag. A whole grocery bag filled with books only costs five dollars today. FIVE!!!! 

"Gosh, why did I come so late?" I ask myself. I mentally slap myself and continue looking at every book. 

The time travelers wife. Yup. I throw that in. 

The Cat's table. Fire. I toss it in my already ripping grocery bag. 

There's something about used books that make me feel dragonflies in my stomach that is better than winning a lottery ticket. Better than receiving a new phone with ten times more storage than your previous one. It's a feeling of opening a car window on a family road trip through the mountains and that breath of fresh air erases all the swirling feeling of nauseousness. I think of books like portals to another dimension, an escape to another reality. Light, possibilities, and new friends. Like that when you wake up in the morning and look forward to all the things you can accomplish that day. That's how I feel when I see a room full of books. 

This weekend I was able to buy twenty four books for the price of thirteen dollars. WHAT? 

Used books are something truly special. I don't get the same feeling holding a brand-new book from Barnes and Noble or Books Inc. I hold up a worn-out, ripped, dog-eared novel and I wonder who held this book before me. What did they think about it? Why are the pages slightly yellow and smell like moths from a dusty old library? 

I somehow feel closer to the book and the story if it is read by someone before me. And I don't mean someone who has read the same book but another copy. But someone who has held the same pieces of paper in front of me, sewed together, flipping through the same pages. I wonder if they thought the same thing as I did when I finished reading that paragraph. It's strange how connected I feel to the person who held the book in front of me, as if we were both drawn to the same story, the same cover, the same characters. 

A lady laughs reading a book that she picked up as I pass by her. I ask her what book she got and she shows me it's a book about how to take care of skin as a middle aged lady. She tells me her name is Carol and she is retired. Her mother taught her how to take care of her skin at a very young age. Carol recommends a book called "The Dance of Anger" and says it helped her understand her husband better. It's interesting what people who lived before you have experienced and they too seem like a novel that hasn't been read yet. 

I have to wait until next month for the next book sale. It's agony but I have enough books now for the whole year. I still have to find room to store them since my book shelf is over-flowing. 

Karina Ip     February 9th, 2025