Renaissance Woman

“Say make me. Remake me. You are free to do it and I am free to let you because look. Look. Look where your hands are. Now.” -Toni Morrison, Jazz

I once saw a woman beginning. You never see that. They are always at least 5 pages in when they’re on the train. But I saw the moment she tenderly peeled back the hard cover. Had it ever been opened before? I swear I heard the silent ache of it, releasing for her.

She caught the first page with her thumb, thick and blank. I had the fleeting wish our train might stop, so that I could hear the submissive rustle of it being pushed to lay flat against the dust jacket. It felt lewd watching her. She smirked, while settling into the half title page, like this useless vestigial thing thrilled her. Perhaps she was thinking how funny it might be that one day the secret to the universe might be placed there, in every book ever written, and it still might take us years to notice. We would be thwarted by our uncaring flip, past all that we thought we already knew. She looked and looked at that page designed to be a martyr for the one to come after.

She takes her time to meander to the next page, and this too feels like a new discovery to her. On the left: Also by this author–where she has already been or where she might go next, I don’t know for certain. The title page eventually coaxes her over to its side of the bed, taking off its clothes to reveal the bold words she already knows, and then, the subtitle, the seductive blunt underbelly of intent. Here is what I really mean to say, it whispers, are you listening closely?

Yes, she nods.

She does not gloss over the copyright. In fact she turns her head to the left like she knew it was coming, her finger tracing down its centered texts, years and ISBNs and rights reserving and None of This is Real We Swear That’s a Coincidence. Tell me who set you into these base shapes, she seems to ask, tell me where and when. Tell me things I do not understand.

Reader I will admit to you that I never read the dedication. It makes me a little sad honestly, to be opening myself up to these carefully crafted words, and to be put in my place apart from them, before I’ve even begun. It is hard to not be sad when you start out your relationship in third wheel status. But, this is not my beginning, it is hers. And she seems to see this new person as fascinating. Like a clue. She asks, Tell me about your past present future lovers. Who has set you into your base shapes and moods, thoughts and cruxes? Who has given you the reason to speak?

She greets the second half-title page like an old friend and it smiles widely back at her. It holds a hand to its large chest and speaks, Hello again, my dear. It is time now, ready yourself.

She turns the page.