it comes back to me every now and then. the memory of carefully choosing the book that would be mine for the next two weeks. quietly stepping toward the counter with my treasure in hand. pushing the book up on to the counter and into the hands of the tiny, aged woman behind the counter.

she touches her pointer finger and thumb to her tongue and reaches into the box to her left for the due date card. she changes the date on the stamp if i'm the first customer, and presses it to the black ink pad and then to the index card. she opens the book to the back cover and slides the card into its pocket. as she does, the plastic dust jacket cover makes a noise that gives me chills to this day.

the crinkle of the plastic combined with the creak of the binding combined with the smell of old books. i close my eyes and i'm back in downtown bluffton in a tabby-sided building in the heat of summer, ready to go home and get lost in whatever faraway land i chose.