Books, like people, leave you with a feeling

 

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I remembered a book I read when I was around ten years old, but I could not remember its title. It was about an animal, a fox, I thought, and I loved the story. The author, as well as any other identifying characteristics, were buried deep in my subconscious, underneath an accumulation of years and other books. I tried to dredge up those particulars, but they were buried too deep, and I finally gave up on having the pleasure of reading it again.

    Fast forward a few years.

    My older brother and I were talking on the phone, and he mentioned a book he read growing up. He told me he liked it so much that years later, when he worked at a job and had money to spend, he went to a bookstore and bought the paperback. He said the book was in his attic and that he needed to find it.

    A couple of days later, he told me he had retrieved the book from the attic and was reading it again. He was already on page eighty-six.

    I found this most interesting, because my brother and I never talk books. Reading for him is becoming cumbersome, as his eyesight is failing, so I never bring up the subject of books.

    A couple of days after our conversation, I remembered the book I read as a child, and it dawned on me that it had to be the same one my brother read. He probably brought it home from the school library, and I picked it up and read it.

    I ordered a copy right away, and Haunt Fox by Jim Kjelgaard arrived in my mailbox about a week later.

    I started reading, and I wanted to fly through the chapters, especially the last few. I am sure it's the same book I read many years ago. A good book never leaves you. The title may fade and the author's name may be out of reach, but the feeling it gave you stays with you forever.

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