For me, libraries had always been a sort of sanctuary. My dad was a book loving family man, he had so much passion for reading. I grew up with books all around me, dad was forever trying to coax me into reading something, anything. He loved books so much, in fact, that he named me after Harper Collins, book publisher. So he was naturally ecstatic when he found me on my bedroom floor with a book in my lap.
Every time he tells me the story I picture it in my head, 3 and a half year old me in Disney pajamas, siting cross-legged on the floor, Little Red Riding Hood resting on my legs. Then dad walks in and scopes the room, his eyes land on me and his face matures into a mixture of absolute lust and delight. The image has become so clear, it's like I can actually remember the moment.
Now, 15 years later, I still shared my dad's wild adoration for books.
When my mum left, none of my friends seemed to understand what I was going through or what to say to me. I gradually drifted away from everyone I had ever been close to, I secluded myself from anyone that wasn't my dad. He began to lose interest in reading and our books just sat rejected on the shelves accumulating dust.
When dad got a new job he spent half as much time reading with me, and even less time reading at all. I couldn't comprehend how everything I had ever known was starting to feel so distant. It was like watching someone else's life unfold, it didn't feel like me.
Dad didn't mope around for long though, after a few months he realised that his 9 year old daughter was also a wreck and we finally talked about her. I told him why I thought she left; because I used to want to read instead of dress up or play with dolls. Dad told me it was his fault that I wanted to read all the time, I told him I was grateful for his book-enthusiast genes. I asked him why she really left, "you have to know Harper, it wasn't your fault." Was all he would ever say.
When I was talking to dad again I felt better, a lot better. But I was far from complete, I still had a pocket of emptiness in me. My friends had long forgotten about me, the only person I talked to was my dad. I grew into this shy, isolated little bookworm. That's what Dad always called me; "you're my little bookworm Harper."
Dad was embarrassingly more excited than me when I got my first job, at a little old bookstore. He wouldn't stop telling me how proud he was.
I met a girl my age there, Lue. She was outgoing and confident, always starting conversations with people. She helped me out of my shell a lot, at least when I was with her. I guess that's because when I was with her I didn't have to interact very much, she did all of the talking and I listened intently.That's why we bonded so well. Since then it's always been me, her and dad. She laughs at how hopeless he is, he laughs at her ever-present positiveness.
We still work that Tuesday shift together, as well as Thurday's, Saturday mornings and some Monday's.
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text message from:
>Lue
Mine tonight? x
>Me
Love to, popcorn and Love Actually? x
>Lue
You know me too well! x
>Me
Hehe see you soon :) x
"Dad!" I lazily rolled of my duvet and grabbed some essentials from my dresser. "Dad! Come here a minute!"
I stopped calling out when I heard clumsy steps ascending the staircase.
"What's up Bookworm?" My dad leaned into the door frame and cocked his head, waiting for a reply.
"Can I stay at Lue's tonight?" I faced him for a brief moment then returned to packing my bag.
