Where can I go

When I was in high school, the TV in our house died the quiet old whispering death that comes with too much much age. It simply gave up the ghost one day. My mother mentioned getting a replacement and I forbid it. There were books to read. TV is such a waste of time. So, for most of my teenage years, we were one of the stranger families of my friends. Most never mentioned that we didn't have a TV. I think they figured we couldn't afford it and didn't want to embarrass me by asking.

I recall long nights spent reading and rereading books. The words flowing across countless pages as I devoured them like a hungry animal. The caressed my mind and soothed my soul. They took me places I never imagined and introduced ideas I'd have never encountered on my own. I read the entire works of Guy de Maupassant sometime between 10 and 14. Many of these stories are not something a child should read and I can't imagine why my mother allowed me such graphic works. Perhaps she simply didn't know.

During the same time, I worked hard at a fast food ice cream chain. I'll leave the name unsaid, but eventually, I even learned how to make the famous swirl on top of the cone. I smelled of grease and fried burgers a good portion of the time. It's a smell you can't really get off your skin. I made friends easily with loose dogs in those days. I think they hoped I was carrying some morsel of the food I smelled of on the long walks home.

I was never bitter about my lot in life. I worked and I worked hard. I never considered that other kids didn't have to put in the long hours outside of school. I worked with many kids that were just like me. They worked to put gas in their cars, and to buy new cassette tapes to listen to on the drives. I bought clothes and food. Sometimes my mother would steal money from me to buy toilet paper. I was bitter about those thefts for years, but I imagine now that it was much harder for her to take the money.

I never stopped reading though. I'd come home late and pick up where I left off. Re-entering the fantasy just as I'd left it. A pause button built in somehow. I never considered what was going to happen next. The story would lead me where it wished. While I was under it's spell, I'd go where I was led and enjoy the freedom I'd achieved. I still read, but it's a rare feeling of excitement to un-pause the story and reenter a world that is not mine. I devour the words more slowly and perhaps with a greater intensity than I ever did before.