Sex in My City (A Novel) by Monique L. Miller

Author:Monique L. Miller [Miller, Monique L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-05-21T04:00:00+00:00

The Readers

(Chapter Seven)

Reading is fundamental.

Most people in the English-speaking world have heard the saying above many times before, and those who are educated and love to read are generally advocates at getting that particular message across.

I don't recall the exact age that I learned the read (does anybody?), but I know that once I started reading, it was something I couldn't fathom stopping. I loved the way my eyes could glide so smoothly from word to word, sentence to sentence, and by the end of the first page, I found myself on a journey. When I was very young, that journey started off with pictures already drawn and colored on a page right in front of me, so there wasn't much of a guessing game when it came to wondering what certain characters looked like or what their surroundings were like. I suppose the real journey started taking place once I started picking up the bigger books with no pictures inside of them; and only sometimes did those books have a picture on its cover. The guessing game was even better than the books with pictures, even though I hadn't thought that it would be. The books without pictures were bigger, the stories were more complex, and I found myself immersed in a world where my mind began to draw its own pictures of what was happening with the characters with the help of the author's words.

I sounded like a child with that previous paragraph, didn't I? I sounded like a ten year old who has just discovered R.L. Stine, Lois Duncan or Judy Blume in my own head as I typed, but maybe that's because just the act of typing about those long-ago days sort of makes me feel that way. Thinking about my love affair with literature almost feels downright romantic at times; I'm not kidding.

However, don't get a bunch of bubble gum, lollipops, hearts, and glitter in your head concerning the innocence of my love of literature just yet. It only started out innocently, but trust me, it turned illicit not too soon after my love began to mature for the written word.

I never got bored with the adolescent themed books I kept in my bedroom. I liked my book collection just fine. As people, sometimes we stumble upon things that aid in certain areas of our maturation that we didn't see coming at all, and that's what happened to me.

Once I got too old for my mom to come in and read me a bedtime story (by her estimation I was too old, not mine), I started reading my own books by myself before bed. If I didn't have any homework after school, sometimes I'd read them during that time instead of flipping on the TV. On the bus rides home from school, I was reading. Sometimes during my lunch period, when I didn't feel like going to lunch, I'd sit in the library and read. I was a regular visitor of my school's library and the librarians never seemed surprised to see me show up.

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